THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


FROM  THE  LIBRARY  OF 

JIM  TULLY 

GIFT  OF 
MRS.  JIM  TULLY 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S 
DAUGHTER 


Other  Books  by  the  Author 

ALIENS 

CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

LETTERS  FROM  AN  OCEAN  TRAMP 

PORT  SAID  MISCELLANY 


Captain  Macedoine's 
Daughter 

By 
William  McFee 


"  It  is  an  amiable  but  disastrous  illusion 
on  the  part  of  the  western  nations  that 
they  have  created  a  monopoly  in  freedom 
and  truth  and  the  right  conduct  of  life." 

—  Mr.  Spenlove 


Garden  City  New  York 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 

1920 


OOPTRIGHT,  1920,  BY 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

ALL  RIGHTS  KESEKVED,  INCLUDING  THAT  OF  TRANSLATION 

INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING  THE  8CANDINA\1AN 


CoUege 
library 


&OZS 


TO 
PAULINE 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2007  witii  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.arcliive.org/details/captainmacedoineOOmcfeiala 


DEDICATORY 

There  is  an  hour  or  so  before  the  train  comes 
puffing  round  the  curve  of  the  Gulf  from  Cordelio, 
and  you  are  gone  down  into  the  garden  for  a  while 
because  the  mosquitoes  become  tiresome  later,  and 
the  great  shadows  of  the  cypresses  are  vanishing  as 
the  sun  sinks  behind  the  purple  islands  beyond  the 
headlands.  You  will  stay  there  for  a  while  among  the 
roses  and  jasmine,  and  then  you  will  come  in  and  say: 
"There  it  is!"  And  together  we  will  slip  and 
stumble  and  trot  down  the  steep  hillside  to  the 
level-crossing,  and  we  will  run  along  to  the  little 
station,  so  like  ours  in  America.  And  when  the 
train  is  come  creaking  and  groaning  and  squealing  to 
a  standstill,  I  shall  climb  in,  while  you  will  stand  for  a 
moment  looking.  .  .  .  You  will  wave  as  we 
start  with  the  usual  prodigious  jerk,  and  then  you 
will  run  back  and  climb  up  to  the  house  again, 
banging  the  big  iron  gate  securely  shut.     .     .     . 

All  just  as  before. 

But  this  time  there  is  this  difference,  that  I  am  not 
coming  back.     I  am  ordered  to  return  to  England, 


viii  DEDICATORY 

and  I  am  to  sail  to-morrow  morning.  Now,  as  I  have 
told  you  more  than  once,  it  is  very  difficult  to  know 
just  how  anything  takes  you  because  you  have  at 
your  command  an  alluring  immobility,  a  sort  of 
sudden  static  receptiveness  which  is,  to  an  English- 
man, a  Westerner  that  is,  at  once  familiar  and 
enigmatic.  And  when  one  has  informed  you,  dis- 
tinctly if  ungrammatically,  in  three  languages,  that 
one  is  going  away  for  good,  and  you  assume  for  a 
moment  that  aforementioned  immobility,  and  mur- 
mur *'C  *est  la  guerre,"  I  ask  you,  what  is  one  to 
think? 

And  perhaps  you  will  recall  that  you  then  went  on 
brushing  your  hair  precisely  as  though  I  had  made 
some  banal  remark  about  the  weather.  A  detached 
observer  would  say — "This  woman  has  no  heart. 
She  is  too  stupid  to  understand. "  However,  as  I  am 
something  more  than  a  detached  observer,  I  know 
that  in  spite  of  that  gruff,  laconic  attitude  of  yours, 
that  enigmatic  immobility,  you  realize  what  this 
means  to  us,  to  me,  to  you. 

So,  while  you  are  down  in  the  garden,  and  the  light 
is  still  quite  good  by  this  western  window,  I  am 
writing  this  for  you.  As  we  say  over  in  America, 
"Let  me  tell  you  something."  I  have  written  a  book, 
and  I  am  dedicating  it  to  you.  As  you  are  aware,  I 
have  written  books  before.     When  I  explained  this 


DEDICATORY  ix 

to  you  you  were  stricken  with  that  sudden  silence, 
that  attentive  seriousness,  if  you  remember,  and 
regarded  me  for  a  long  time  without  making  any 
remark.  Well,  another  one  is  done  and  I  inscribe  it 
to  you.  Of  course  I  know  perfectly  well  that  books 
are  nothing  to  you,  that  you  read  only  the  perplexing 
and  defaced  human  hieroglyphics  around  you.  I 
know  that  when  you  receive  a  copy  of  this  new  affair, 
through  the  British  Post  Oflfice  in  the  Rue  Franquey 
you  will  not  read  it.  You  will  lay  it  carefully  in  a 
drawer,  and  let  it  go  at  that.  And  knowing  this,  and 
without  feeling  sad  about  it,  either,  since  I  have  no 
fancy  for  bookish  women,  I  am  anxious  that  you 
should  read  at  least  the  dedication.  So  I  am  writing 
it  here  by  the  window,  hurriedly,  in  words  you  will 
understand,  and  I  shall  leave  it  on  the  table,  and  you 
will  find  it  later,  when  I  am  gone. 

Listen. 

The  fact  is,  this  dedication,  like  the  book  which 
follows  after  it,  is  not  merely  an  act  of  homage.  It  is 
a  symbol  of  emancipation  from  an  influence  under 
which  I  have  lived  for  two  thirds  of  your  lifetime.  I 
must  tell  you  that  I  have  always  been  troubled  by 
visions  of  beings  whom  I  call  dream-women.  I  was  a 
solitary  child.  Girls  were  disconcerting  creatures 
who  revealed  to  me  only  the  unamiable  sides  of  their 
natures.     But  I  discovered   that   I   possessed  the 


X  DEDICATORY 

pwwer  of  inventing  women  who,  while  they  only 
dimly  resembled  the  neighbours,  and  acquired  a  few 
traits  from  the  illustrations  in  books,  were  none  the 
less  extraordinarily  real,  becoming  clearly  visualized, 
living  in  my  thoughts,  drawing  sustenance  from 
secret  sources,  and  inspiring  me  with  a  suspicion, 
never  reaching  expression,  that  they  were  really 
aspects  of  myself — what  I  would  have  been  if,  as  I 
sometimes  heard  near  relatives  regret,  I  had  been 
bom  a  girl.  And  later,  when  I  was  a  youth,  and 
began  to  go  out  into  the  world,  all  those  vague  im- 
aginings crystallized  into  a  definite  conception.  She 
was  everything  I  disliked — a  tiny,  slender  creature 
with  pale  golden  hair  and  pathetic  blue  eyes,  and  in 
my  dreams  she  was  always  clinging  to  me,  which  I 
detested.  I  regarded  myself  with  contempt  for 
remaining  preoccupied  with  a  fancy  so  alien  to  my 
temperament.  You  might  suppose  that  an  image 
inspiring  such  antagonism  would  soon  fade.  On  the 
contrary,  she  assumed  a  larger  and  larger  dominion 
over  my  imagination.  I  fancied  myself  married  to 
her,  and  for  days  the  spell  of  such  a  dire  destiny  made 
me  ill.  It  was  summer  time,  and  I  lived  on  the 
upper  floor  of  my  mother's  house  in  an  outlying 
faubourg  of  London,  from  the  windows  of  which  one 
could  look  across  a  wide  wooded  valley  or  down  into 
the  secluded  gardens  of  the  surrounding  villas.     And 


DEDICATORY  xi 

one  evening  I  happened  to  look  down  and  I  saw, 
between  the  thickly  clothed  branches  of  the  lime- 
trees,  the  woman  of  my  dreams  sitting  in  a  neigh- 
bour's garden,  nursing  a  baby,  and  rocking  herself  to 
and  fro  while  she  turned  her  childish  features  and 
pale  blue  eyes  toward  the  house  with  an  expectant 
smile.  I  sat  at  my  window  looking  at  this  woman, 
some  neighbour's  recently  married  daughter  no 
doubt,  my  thoughts  in  a  flurry  of  fear,  for  she  was 
just  as  I  had  imagined  her.  I  wonder  if  I  can  make 
you  understand  that  I  did  not  want  to  imagine  her  at 
all,  that  I  was  helpless  in  the  grip  of  my  forebodings? 
For  in  the  dream  it  was  I  who  would  come  out  of  the 
drawing-room  door  on  to  the  lawn,  who  would  ad- 
vance in  an  alpaca  coat,  put  on  after  my  return  from 
business,  a  gold  watch-chain  stretched  athwart  my 
stomach,  carpet  slipi>ers  on  my  soft,  untravelled  feet, 
and  would  bend  4own  to  that  clinging  form.  .  .  . 
As  I  have  told  you,  it  was  about  that  time  that  I 
left  ihe  faubourgs  and  went  to  live  in  a  studio  among 
artists.  Without  knowing  it,  I  took  the  most 
certain  method  of  depriving  that  woman  of  her 
power.  Beyond  the  shady  drives  and  prim  gardens 
of  the  faubourg  her  image  began  to  waver,  and  she 
haunted  my  dreams  no  more.  And  I  was  glad  of  this 
because  at  that  time  I  was  an  apprentice  to  Life,  and 
there  were  so  many  things  at  which  I  wanted  to  try 


xii  DEDICATORY 

my  hand  that  I  had  not  time  for  what  is  known, 
rather  vaguely,  as  love  and  romance  and  sentiment 
and  so  forth.  I  resented  the  intrusion  of  these 
sensuous  phantoms  upon  the  solitudes  where  I  was 
struggling  with  the  elementary  rules  of  art.  I  was 
consumed  with  an  insatiable  ambition  to  write,  to 
read,  to  travel,  to  talk,  to  achieve  distinction.  And 
curiously,  I  had  an  equally  powerful  instinct  to  make 
myself  as  much  like  other  young  men,  in  manner  and 
dress  and  ideas,  as  possible.  I  was  ashamed  of  my 
preoccupation  with  these  creatures  of  my  imagina- 
tion, believing  them  peculiar  to  myself,  and  I  hurried 
from  them  as  one  hurries  from  shabby  relations. 
But  before  I  was  aware  of  it  I  had  fallen  into  the 
toils  of  another  dream-woman,  an  experienced, 
rapacious,  and  disdainful  woman.  I  saw  her  in 
studios,  where  she  talked  without  noticing  me  save 
out  of  the  comer  of  her  eye.  I  saw  her  at  picture 
exhibitions,  where  she  stood  regarding  the  pictures 
satirically,  speaking  rapidly  and  disparagingly  from 
between  small  white  teeth  and  holding  extravagant 
furs  about  her  thin  form.  I  had  a  notion,  too,  that 
she  was  married,  and  I  waited  in  a  temper  of  mingled 
pride,  disgust,  and  fortitude  for  her  to  appear  in  the 
body.  And  then  things  began  to  happen  to  me  with 
bewildering  rapidity.  In  the  space  of  a  week  I  fell  in 
love,  I  lost  my  employment,  and  I  ran  away  to  sea. 


DEDICATORY  xiii 

Now  it  is  of  no  importance  to  you  what  my  employ- 
ment was  or  how  I  lost  it.  Neither  are  you  deeply 
interested  in  that  sea  upon  which  I  spend  my  days, 
and  which  is  to  bear  me  away  from  you  to-morrow. 
You  come  of  inland  stock,  and  the  sea-coast  of 
Bohemia,  a  coast  of  fairy  lights  and  magic  casements, 
is  more  in  your  way.  But  I  know  without  asking 
that  you  will  be  eager  to  hear  about  the  falling  in 
love.     Indeed  this  is  the  point  of  the  story. 

The  point  is  that  an  average  young  Englishman,  as 
I  was  then,  may  quite  possibly  live  and  prosper  and 
die,  without  ever  getting  to  know  anything  about 
love  at  all!  I  told  you  this  once,  and  you  observed 
*'My  God!  Impossible."  And  you  added  thought- 
fully: "The  Englishwomen — perhaps  it  is  their 
fault."  Well,  it  may  be  their  fault,  or  the  fault  of 
their  climate,  which  washes  the  vitality  out  of  one,  or 
of  their  religion,  which  does  not  encourage  emotional 
adventure  to  any  notable  degree.  The  point  is  that 
the  average  young  Englishman  is  more  easily  fooled 
about  love  than  about  anything  else  in  the  world. 
He  accepts  almost  any  substitute  offered  to  him  in  an 
attractive  package.  I  know  this  because  I  was  an 
average  young  Englishman  and  I  was  extensively 
fooled  about  love.  The  whole  social  fabric  of  English 
life  is  engaged  in  manufacturing  spurious  counterfeits 
of  the  genuine  article.     And  I  fell,  as  we  say  in 


xiv  DEDICATORY 

America,  for  a  particularly  cheap  imitation  called 
Ideal  Love. 

Now  you  must  not  imagine  that,  because  I  had,  as 
I  say,  fallen  in  love  with  Ideal  Love,  I  was  therefore 
free  from  the  dream-woman  of  whom  I  have  spoken. 
Not  at  all.  She  hovered  in  my  thoughts  and  com- 
phcated  my  emotions.  But  I  can  hear  you  saying: 
"Never  mind  the  dream- woman.  Tell  me  about 
the  real  one,  your  ideal."  Well,  hsten.  She  was 
small,  thin,  and  of  a  dusky  pallor,  and  her  sharp, 
clever  features  were  occasionally  irradiated  with  a 
dry,  satirical  smile  that  had  the  cold,  gleaming  con- 
centration of  the  beam  of  a  searchlight.  She  had  a 
large  number  of  accomphshments,  a  phrase  we 
English  use  in  a  most  confusing  sense,  since  she  had 
never  accomplished  anything  and  never  would. 
But  the  ideal  part  of  her  lay  in  her  magnificent  con- 
viction that  she  and  her  class  were  the  final  em- 
bodiment of  desirable  womanhood.  It  was  not  she 
whom  I  loved.  Indeed  she  was  a  rather  disagreeable 
girl  with  a  mania  for  using  men's  slang  which  she  had 
picked  up  from  college-boys.  It  was  this  ideal  of 
English  womanhood  which  deluded  me,  and  which 
scared  me  for  many  years  from  examining  her 
credentials. 

That  is  what  it  amounted  to.  For  years  after  I 
had  discovered  that  she  thought  me  beneath  her 


DEDICATORY  xv 

because  I  was  not  a  college-boy,  she  continued  to 
imp)ose  her  personality  upon  me.  Whenever  I 
imagined  for  a  moment  that  I  might  love  some  other 
kind  of  woman,  I  would  see  that  girl's  disparaging 
gray  eyes  regarding  me  with  an  attentive,  satirical 
smile.  And  this  obsession  appeared  to  my  befuddled 
mentality  as  a  species  of  sacrifice.  I  imagined  that 
I  was  remaining  true  to  my  Ideal!  If  you  demand 
where  I  obtained  these  ideas,  I  can  only  confess  that 
I  had  read  of  such  sterile  allegiances  in  books,  and  I 
had  not  yet  abandoned  the  illusion  that  life  was  to  be 
learned  from  literature,  instead  of  literature  from 
life.  And,  moreover,  although  we  are  accustomed  to 
assume  that  all  young  men  have  a  natural  aptitude 
for  love,  I  think  myself  that  it  is  not  so;  that  we  have 
to  acquire,  by  long  practice  and  thought,  the  ability 
and  the  temperament  to  achieve  anything  beyond 
tawdry  intrigues  and  banal  courtships,  spurious 
imitations  which  are  exhibited  and  extensively 
advertised  as  the  real  thing.  And  again,  while  it 
may  be  true,  as  La  Rochefoucauld  declares  in  his 
"Maxims*' — the  thin  book  you  have  so  often  found  by 
my  chair  in  the  garden — that  a  woman  is  in  love  with 
her  first  lover,  and  ever  after  is  in  love  with  love,  it 
seems  to  me  that  with  men  the  reverse  is  true.  We 
spend  years  in  falling  in  and  out  of  love  with  love. 
The  woman  is  only  a  lay  figure  whom  we  invest 


xvi  DEDICATORY 

with  the  vague  splendours  pi  our  snobbish  and  in- 
experienced imagination.  \\^ great  passion  demands 
as  much  knowledge  and  experience  and  aptitude  as 
a  great  idea.  I  would  almogt  say  it  requires  as 
much  talent  as  a  work  of  art;  indeed,  the  passion, 
the  idea,  and  the  work  of  aff  are  really  only  three 
manifestations,  three  dimensions,  of  the  same  emotion. 
And  the  simple  and  sufficient  reason  why  this  book 
should  be  dedicated  to  you  is,  that  but  for  you  it 
would  not  have  been  writtep. 

And  very  often,  I  think,  women  marry  men  simply 
to  keep  them  from  ever  encountering  passion. 
Englishwomen  especially.  They  are  afraid  of  it. 
They  think  it  wicked.  So  they  marry  him.  Though 
they  suspect  that  he  will  be  able  to  sustain  it  when  he 
has  gotten  more  experience,  they  know  that  they 
themselves  will  never  be  the  objects  of  it,  so  they 
trick  him  with  one  of  the  clever  imitations  I  have 
mentioned.  Everything  is  done  to  keep  out  the 
woman  who  can  inspire  an  authentic  passion.  And 
the  act  of  duping  him  is  invariably  attributed  to 
what  is  called  the  mothering  instinct,  a  craving  to 
protect  a  yoimg  man  from  his  natural  destiny,  the 
great  adventure  of  life! 

However,  after  a  number  of  years  of  sea-faring, 
during  which  I  was  obsessed  by  this  sterile  allegiance, 
and  permitted  many  interesting  possibilities  to  pass 


DEDICATORY  xvii 

me  without  investigating  them,  I  was  once  more  in 
London,  in  late  autumn.  I  call  this  sort  of  fidelity 
sterile  because  it  is  static,  whereas  all  genuine  emotion 
is  dynamic — a  species  of  growth.  And  I  reaKzed  that 
beneath  my  conventional  desire  to  see  her  again  lay 
a  reluctance  to  discover  my  folly.  But  convention 
was  too  strong  for  me,  and  by  a  fairly  easy  series  of 
charitable  arrangements  I  met  her.  And  it  was  at  a 
picture-show.  I  remember  pondering  upon  this 
accident  of  place  as  I  made  my  way  along  Bond 
Street  in  the  afternoon  sunshine,  for  I  could  not 
help  thinking  of  that  disdainful  dream-woman  who 
posed,  in  my  imagination,  as  an  authority  on  art. 
This,  I  suppose,  was  due  to  my  prolonged  study  of  the 
Italian  Renaissance,  a  period  to  which  I  had  kept  my 
reading  for  a  number  of  years.  I  remember  giving  up 
my  ticket  to  a  sleek-haired,  frock-coated  individual, 
and  passing  along  a  corridor  hung  with  black  velvet, 
against  which  were  hung  one  or  two  large  canvases  in 
formidable  gold  frames,  cunningly  illuminated  by 
concealed  electric  globes.  A  haughty  creature  stood 
by  a  table  loaded  with  catalogues  and  deigned  to 
accept  my  shilling.  And  then,  feeling  strange  and 
gauche,  as  is  only  felt  by  the  sea-f arer  ashore  when  he 
steps  out  of  his  authentic  milieu,  I  passed  through 
into  the  gallery,  a  high,  dignified  chamber  full  of  the 
quiet  radiance  of  beautiful  pictures,  the  life-work  of  a 


xviii  DEDICATORY 

man  whom  I  had  known.  I  found  myself  regretting 
that  fate  had  not  permitted  me  to  remain  in  such  an 
environment;  but  one  cannot  avoid  one's  destiny,  and 
mine  is  to  have  an  essentially  middle-class  mind,  a 
bourgeois  mentality,  which  makes  it  impossible  for 
me  to  live  among  artists  or  people  of  culture  for  any 
length  of  time.  I  should  say  that  the  reason  for  this 
is  that  such  folk  are  not  primarily  interested  in 
persons  but  in  types  and  ideas,  whereas  I  am  for 
persons.  Flowers  and  trees,  perfumes  and  music, 
colours  and  children,  are  to  me  irrelevant.  But 
every  man  and  woman  I  meet  is,  to  me  a  fresh  prob- 
lem which  engages  my  emotions.  The  talk  about 
types  is  incomprehensible  to  me,  for  each  fresh 
individual  will  throw  me  into  a  trance  of  speculation. 
But  only  when  one  has  lived  among  clever  people  can 
one  realize  how  tedious  and  monotonous  their  society 
can  be.  I  was  thinking  about  the  man  who  had 
painted  these  pictures  and  how  he  had  delighted  to 
frighten  me  with  his  obscene  comments  about  women, 
when  I  saw  a  woman  far  down  on  the  left,  a  woman  in 
an  enormous  hat,  holding  extravagant  furs  about  her 
thin  form,  and  talking  to  a  tall,  handsome  man  from 
between  her  small  white  teeth. 

For  you  will  not  be  too  much  astonished  to  hear 
that  this  girl  for  whom  I  had  cherished  this  sterile 
fidelity  had  become  in  all  essentials  the  dream-woman 


DEDICATORY  six 

who  had  been  the  bane  of  my  life  for  so  long.  Perhaps 
she  had  always  been  the  same  and  the  illusion  of 
youth  had  blinded  me  to  her  identity.  Perhaps,  on 
the  other  hand,  she  had  really  changed,  for  she  was 
now  twenty-five  instead  of  twenty-one — ominous 
[years  in  a  woman's  life.  At  any  rate,  I  had  changed 
for  a  certainty.  While  I  still  struggled  against  the 
bondage  her  personality  imposed  upon  me,  I  no 
longer  struggled  in  vain.  I  had  been  drawing 
stores  of  strength  from  toil,  from  the  sea,  from  the 
bizarre  phantasmagoria  which  the  countries  of  the 
East  had  unrolled  before  my  eyes.  And  I  think  she 
saw  this  at  once,  for  she  had  no  sooner  introduced  me 
to  her  companion,  an  actor  who  had  recently  married 
an  eminent  actress  twice  his  own  age,  than  she  made 
our  excuses  and  proposed  an  immediate  departure. 
But  it  was  too  late.  As  we  drove  in  a  swiftly 
moving  taxi-cab  through  the  gay  streets  of  West 
London,  and  on  out  to  Richmond,  where  she  was 
staying  with  friends,  I  knew  that  in  the  end  I  should 
be  free.  She  was  soon  to  be  married,  and  in  her 
satirical  gray  eyes  I  saw  a  desire  to  hold  me  per- 
manently in  a  condition  of  chivalrous  abnegation. 
On  these  terms  I  might  achieve  some  sort  of  destiny 
without  endangering  her  dominion.  But  I  felt  the 
winds  of  freedom  blowing  from  the  future  on  my  face. 
I  did  not  see  then  how  it  would  come  about:    I  did 


XX  DEDICATORY 

not  even  imagine  the  long  years  of  moody  and  un- 
profitable voyaging  which  lay  before  me.  But  she 
saw  that  her  own  ideal  of  mascuHne  modern  woman- 
hood no  longer  appeared  to  me  the  supremely  evoca- 
tive thing  she  claimed  it  to  be,  so  that  in  time,  in 
time,  her  power  would  depart.  I  can  see  her  now, 
turned  slightly  away  from  me  in  the  cab,  regarding 
me  over  her  shoulder  from  beneath  that  enormous 
hat,  studying  even  then  how  she  could  keep  me  true 
to  that  worn-out  creed,  weighing  who  knows  what 
reckless  plans  in  her  cool,  clever  brain.     .     .     . 

But  it  was  a  long  time!  For  years  yet  I  saw  her 
before  me  whenever  I  thought  of  other  women,  and 
her  disparaging,  slightly  satirical  smile  would  inter- 
pose itself  and  hold  me  back  from  experimenting 
with  fresh  emotions.  Even  when  war  came  and  our 
spiritual  and  emotional  worlds  came  crashing  about 
our  ears,  her  power  waned  but  did  not  depart.  I  had 
no  choice  between  this  shadowy,  reluctant  fidelity 
and  a  descent  into  regions  where  I  had  neither  the 
means  nor  the  temperament  to  prosper.  And  so  it 
went,  until  suddenly  one  day  the  whole  thing  came  to 
an  end.  You  will  remember  how  I  abruptly  aban- 
doned the  story  upon  which  I  was  engaged,  and  told 
you  I  had  begun  upon  a  tale  you  had  told  to  me,  the 
tale  of  Captain  Macedoine's  Daughter.''  Behold  it, 
transmuted  into  something  you  would  never  recognize. 


DEDICATORY  xxi 

as  is  the  way  of  stories  when  a  novelist  of  romantic 
tendencies  gets  at  them!  And  what  I  want  you  to 
observe  is  that  the  inspiration,  as  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, was  based  upon  your  brief  yet  intensely 
vivid  projection  of  your  life  in  that  dull  street  in  a 
Saloniki  faubourg,  a  street  so  like  many  of  ours  in  the 
faubourgs  of  London,  stretching  away  into  dim, 
dusty  distances;  but  unlike  ours  in  that  beyond  it 
rose  ranges  of  hard,  sharp  mountains  that  looked  as 
though  they  had  been  cut  out  of  pasteboard,  and 
stuck  against  a  sky  so  unreal  in  its  uncompromising 
blueness  that  it  seemed  to  be  aniline-dyed.  And  as 
the  days  passed,  and  the  story  grew,  here  by  the  blue 
waters  of  the  Gulf  I  suddenly  realized  that  the  spell 
of  the  dream-woman  had  been  broken,  that  behind 
my  story  of  Captain  Macedoine's  Daughter  another 
story  was  working  out — the  ghost  of  a  story  if  you 
like — ^the  drama  of  the  end  of  an  illusion.  My  old 
antagonist  had  met  her  match  at  last.  She  tried  to 
frighten  me  with  her  slightly  satirical  smile.  She 
invoked  the  innumerable  memories  and  sentiments  in 
which  I  had  been  born  and  reared.  But  she  had  met 
her  match.  I  took  her  by  the  arm  and  opening  the 
door,  thrust  her  gently  outside.  And  then,  while 
you  were  down  there  in  the  garden,  I  went  on  to  write 
the  tale  of  Captain  Macedoine's  Daughter. 

There  is  another  long-drawn  shriek — the  train  is 


xxu  DEDICATORY 

leaving  the  station  next  to  ours — and  I  take  a  last 
look  out  up)on  the  well-remembered  view.  Across 
the  shining  waters  of  the  Gulf  the  lights  of  the  city 
are  glittering  already  against  the  many-coloured 
fagades,  with  their  marble  and  cedar  balconies,  their 
bright  green  jalousies  and  gay  ensigns.  Already  the 
war-ships  in  the  rode  are  picked  out  in  bright  points, 
and  the  mast-head  lights  are  winking  rapid  messages 
to  each  other.  The  western  sky  over  the  headland  is 
a  smoky  orange  with  pale  green  and  amber  above, 
and  the  moon,  an  incredibly  slender  crescent  of  pure 
silver,  hangs  faintly  over  Mount  Pagos.  It  is 
quite  dark  down  under  the  cypresses,  and  a  smell  of 
humid  earth  mingles  with  the  perfume  of  the  jasmine. 

Yes,  I  am  now  quite  ready.     No,  I  have  left  noth- 
ing behind,  except  perhaps.     .     .     . 

Well,  it  is  for  you  to  say. 
Bairakli.  W.  M, 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S 
DAUGHTER 


CHAPTER  I 

NONE  of  the  men  sitting  in  deck  chairs 
under  the  awning  were  surprised  to  hear 
the  Chief  say  that  he  had  known  Ipsilon 
in  peace-time.  So  far  H.  M,  S.  Sycorax 
had  touched  at  no  port,  and  patrolled  no  sea-route 
which  that  quiet  and  occasionally  garrulous  man  had 
not  known  in  peace-time.  This  was  not  surprising, 
as  we  have  said,  for  he  alone  had  been  a  genuire 
wanderer  upon  the  face  of  the  waters.  The  Com- 
mander, who  lived  in  majestic  seclusion  in  his  own 
suite,  had  been  all  his  hfe  in  the  Pacific  trade.  The 
First,  Second,  and  Third  Lieutenants  came  out  of 
western  ocean  liners.  The  Surgeon  and  Paymaster 
were  "temporary"  and  only  waited  the  last  shot  to 
return  to  the  comfortable  sinecures,  which  they 
averred  awaited  them  in  London  and  Edinburgh. 
So  it  happened  that  to  the  Chief  alone  the  eastern 
Mediterranean  was  a  known  and  experienced  cruising 
ground;  and  when  the  Sycorax,  detailed  to  escort 
convoys  through  the  intricacies  of  the  JSgean 
Archipelago,  awaited  her  slow-moving  charges  in  the 


4         CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

netted  and  landlocked  harbour  of  Megalovadi,  in  the 
Island  of  Ipsilon,  Engineer-Lieutenant  Spenlove, 
R.  N.  R.,  said  he  remembered  being  there  eight  or 
nine  years  ago,  loading  for  Rotterdam. 

The  others  looked  at  him  and  then  back  at  the 
enormous  marble  cliffs  which  threw  shadows  almost 
as  solid  as  themselves  upon  the  waters  of  the  little 
bay,  almost  a  cove.  It  was  not  so  much  that  they 
expected  Sp>enlove  to  tell  them  a  story  as  that  these 
men  had  not  yet  tired  of  each  other's  idiosyncrasies — 
another  way  of  saying  the  Sycorax  was  a  happy 
ship.  The  infiltration  of  landsmen,  in  the  j>ersons 
of  surgeon  and  paymaster,  the  occasional  glimpses 
of  one  another  caught  during  their  sundry  small 
actions  with  the  enemy,  kept  their  intercourse 
sweet  and  devoid  of  those  poisonous  growths  of 
boredom  and  slander  which  too  often  accumulate 
upon  a  body  of  men  at  sea  like  barnacles  on  the 
hull. 

And  in  addition  Spenlove  was  easy  to  look  at,  for 
he  never  returned  the  glance.  He  was  a  solidly 
built  man  of  forty  odd,  with  a  neat  gray  beard  and 
carefully  tended  hair.  The  surgeon  once  said 
Spenlove  resembled  an  ambassador  more  than  an 
engineer,  and  Spenlove,  without  in  any  way  moving 
from  his  customary  pose  of  alert  yet  placid  abstrac- 
tion, had  murmured  absently: 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER         5 

"On  one  occasion,  I  was  an  ambassador.  I  will 
tell  you  about  it  some  time." 

"Rotterdam?"  observed  Inness  the  paymaster — 
Inness  was  an  Oxford  man  who  had  married  into  a 
wealthy  merchant's  family.  He  said  "Rotterdam" 
because  he  had  once  been  there. 

"Yes,"  said  Spenlove.  "Rotterdam  for  Krupp's 
of  Essen.  For  three  years  Krupp's  took  a  hundred 
thousand  tons  per  annum  of  high-grade  ore  out  of 
this  little  island  alone.  They  took  it  in  British 
bottoms  to  Rotterdam,  and  from  there  it  went  by 
way  of  their  interminable  canals  to  Essen.  I  know 
because  I  helped  to  take  it.  It  was  just  about  the 
time,  too,  that  Chamberlain  was  preaching  his 
crusade  against  the  evils  of  Germany  dumping  her 
steel  below  cost  price  on  our  markets,  and  I  was  so 
indignant  about  it  that  I  wrote  to  the  newspap>ers.  I 
often  wrote  to  the  newspapers  in  those  days.  I 
suppose  we  all  catch  the  disease  at  some  time  or 
other.  As  a  rule,  of  course,  nothing  happened  save 
that  the  letter  would  not  be  printed,  or  else  printed 
full  of  mistakes,  with  the  vital  paragraphs  omitted 
for  'lack  of  space.'  This  letter  wasn't  printed 
either,  but  I  received  one  in  return  from  a  fiery 
young  member  of  Parliament  who  had  just  been 
returned  on  the  Protective  Tariff  ticket.  He  asked 
for  full  details,  which  I  sent  to  him.     I  believe  he 


6         CAl^AIN  IVIACEDOINES  DAUGHTER 

tried  to  make  a  question  of  it  in  the  House,  but  he 
ran  up  against  the  Consular  Service,  and  that  did  for 
him.  You  see,  our  Consul  here  was  named  Griin- 
baum. 

"More  than  that,"  went  on  Mr.  Spenlove,  sitting 
upright  in  his  deck-chair  and  looking  attentively  at  a 
near-by  ventilator;  "more  than  that,  INIr.  Griinbaum 
was  resident  concessionaire  cf  the  mining  company, 
he  owned  the  pumping-plant  which  irrigates  yonder 
valley,  he  was  connected  by  marriage  with  the  Greek 
governor  of  the  Island,  who  lives  over  in  the  tiny 
capital  of  Ipsilon,  and  he,  Griinbaum,  was  the 
richest  man  in  the  Cyclades.  That  was  his  house, 
that  big  square  white  barn  with  the  three  tall  windows 
and  the  outside  staircase.  He  was  a  man  of  enor- 
mous size  and  weight,  and  I  daresay  the  people  of  the 
Island  thought  him  a  god.  He  certamly  treated 
them  most  humanely.  Every  widow  was  pensioned 
by  him,  which  was  not  very  much  after  all,  for  they 
used  to  have  precious  little  use  for  money.  You 
could  get  a  bottle  of  wine  and  a  great  basket  of 
grapes  and  figs  for  a  piece  of  soap,  I  remember.  He 
built  churches  for  them,  too,  like  that  one  perched  up 
there  on  the  rock  above  his  house — snow-white  with 
a  blue  dome.  You  may  have  noticed  the  other  day 
in  the  wireless  news  that  the  friends  of  freedom  in 
Greece  polished  off  a  few  of  what  were  described  as 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER         7 

reactionaires.  Put  them  up  against  a  wall  and 
pumped  mannlicher  bullets  into  them.  One  of  these 
obstacles  to  liberty  was  named  Griinbaum,  I  ob- 
served. 

"But  what  I  was  going  to  tell  you  about  was  a  man 
who  was  at  one  time  in  Grunbaum's  employ,  a  man 
whom  I  had  run  against  before,  a  Captain  Mace- 
doine.  I  don't  suppose  any  of  you  have  ever  heard 
of  him.  He  was  a  very  remarkable  man  for  all  that. 
He  wasn't  a  captain  at  all,  really,  you  know.  As  it 
happens,  I  knew  that  much  about  him  a  long  while 
back,  when  I  was  in  the  Maracaibo  Line,  running 
with  mails,  passengers,  and  fruit  between  Colombian 
ports  and  New  Orleans.  No;  they  were  absorbed 
long  ago.  The  big  Yucatan  Steamship  Company 
opened  its  big  jaws  one  day  and  gulped  down  the 
Maracaibo  outfit  at  one  swallow.  And  we  all  had  to 
come  home.  It  was  a  fairly  lucrative  billet  while  it 
lasted,  and  Macedoine,  who  was  a  chief  steward,  may 
have  put  by  a  good  bit  of  money.  He  had  that 
reputation,  and  judging  by  experience  I  should  say  at 
least  half  of  what  we  heard  was  true.  But  what 
interested  me  when  I  was  sailing  with  him  was  his 
character,  as  revealed  by  his  hobby.  For  it  was  a 
hobby  with  him  and  a  fairly  expensive  one,  too,  posing 
as  an  educated  man  of  old  family.  It  was  the  great 
preoccupation   of   his   life.     You   might   almost   be 


8         CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

justified  in  calling  him  an  artist.  He  was  a  big, 
solemn,  clean-shaven  person,  with  an  air  of  haughti- 
ness which  impressed  passengers  tremendously.  It 
was  this  air  which  got  him  the  nick-name  of  captain, 
and  it  stuck.  Two  or  three  young  girls,  who  were 
making  the  trip,  came  up  to  him  the  first  day  out,  and 
one  of  them  exclaimed,  'Oh,  Captain,  can  we  .  .  .' 
something  or  other.  The  skipper  was  a  dried-up 
little  shell-back  who  hated  passengers  and  never 
came  down  on  the  promenade  deck  at  all.  The  bell- 
hop, an  immoral  Httle  demon  in  buttons,  who  had 
come  from  a  reformatory,  heard  the  remark  and  in  a 
few  minutes  it  was  all  over  the  pantry  and  glory- 
hole.  'Captain  Macedoine.'  When  he  gave  one  of 
the  scullions  a  calling  down  next  day,  the  man,  a 
typical  Louisiana  nigger,  answered  in  the  inevitable 
musical  drawl:  'All  right,  sah.  Captain  Macedoine!' 
It  stuck.  It  hit  the  popular  fancy.  More  than  that, 
it  hit  his  own  fancy,  too,  for  when  he  went  home  to 
England,  'retired  on  a  competency,'  as  he  phrased 
it,  he  retired  as  Captain  Macedoine;  late  of  the 
American  Merchant  Marine. 

"But  that  was  only  a  side  issue.  He  let  it  be 
known,  in  the  subtlest  possible  manner,  that  he  was 
of  ancient  lineage.  He  had  been  heard  to  speak  of 
Alexander  of  Macedon!  Yes,  you  laugh;  but  you 
have  not  been  to  sea  as  long  as  I  have.     Such  things 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER         9 

are  possible  at  sea.  I  have  had  a  second  engineer 
from  Sunderland,  a  chap  named  Philip,  who  claimed 
Phihp  of  Spain  as  his  ancestor.  There  was  Captain 
Gizzard,  in  my  old  London  employ,  who  had  a 
genealogical  tree  which  traced  the  old  fraud's  descent 
from  the  Guiscards  of  Sicily.  No!  Captain  Mace- 
doine's  illusions  are  common  enough,  I  fancy,  among 
men.  It  was  only  that  instead  of  trying  to  master 
them  and  clear  them  away,  he  cultivated  them  until 
they  grew  to  monstrous  proportions  and  he  lost 
sight  of  reality  altogether.  Or  if  you  like,  he  was  an 
artist,  working  upon  himself  as  material,  like  those 
old  masters  we  read  about  who  devoted  their  lives  to 
the  accomplishment  of  obscure  technical  excellences 
that  only  the  cognoscenti  could  discover  and  enjoy." 

"Possibly,"  murmured  the  Surgeon,  smiling  in  the 
darkness  of  the  evening. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Spenlove,  in  a  musing  tone,  "of 
course  a  certain  latitude  of  analogy  is  permitted  in 
describing  one  man  to  another,  if  we  ever  can  de- 
scribe him.  That  was  how  Macedoine  struck  me. 
The  aim  of  his  art  was  to  conceal  the  artist,  which  I 
understand  is  sound  aesthetics.  And  it  was  impos- 
sible not  to  admire  his  method,  his  style,  if  you  like. 
There  was  nothing  crude  in  it.  So  far  from  leaving 
nothing  to  chance,  he  left  everything  to  chance. 
Take  the  case  of  his  daughter.     The  brat  in  those 


10       CAPTAIN  ^MCEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

days  was  a  god-send  to  him.  I  used  to  think  she 
was  merely  an  invention,  he  was  so  circumstantial  in 
his  subtly  shaded  allusions.  You  might  say  that  if 
she  hadn't  existed,  the  trend  of  his  emotional  develop- 
ment, the  scheme  on  which  he  was  engaged,  would 
have  compelled  him  to  invent  her.  As  I  say,  I  did 
believe  at  one  time  he  had  invented  her,  for  he  was 
always  inventing  something.  In  some  bewildering, 
indefinable  way,  we  became  aware,  week  by  week, 
month  by  month,  of  a  fresh  touch,  a  new  phase  of 
Captain  Macedoine.  I  don't  pretend  to  know  what 
final  frame  he  proposed  to  give  to  the  magnificent 
picture  he  was  making.  Perhaps  he  didn't  know 
himself.  Perhaps  he  had  no  ultimate  design.  Any- 
how we  never  had  it,  for  as  I  said,  the  company  was 
absorbed  and  we  all  had  to  come  home. 

"I  admit  I  was  surprised  enough  when  I  found  out, 
quite  accidentally,  that  he  had  married  an  octaroon. 
When  I  say  married,  I  mean  of  course,  as  far  as 
fidelity  and  maintenance  was  concerned.  He  rented 
a  cottage  out  on  Tchoupitoulas  Street,  where  the 
mosquitoes  sing  loud  enough  to  drown  conversation, 
and  the  grass  grows  man-high  between  the  road  and 
the  sidewalk.  And  there  the  woman  lived  a  while 
and  died.  I  was  never  in  the  house,  but  young 
Strellett,  the  second  steward,  who  was  lost  when  the 
Toro   turned    over   in   the   Yucatan   channel,   was 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       11 

married  and  lived  not  far  from  Macedoine's  mSnage, 
and  I  can  imagine  the  place.  Strellett  had  a  little 
three-roomed  box  where  he  lived  with  his  big  rosy- 
cheeked  Irish  wife,  and  there  was  something  very 
homelike  about  it,  for  all  the  carpets  and  curtains 
and  a  good  deal  of  the  table-hnen  had  come  from  the 
Maracaibo  Line's  cabins.  Sent  ashore  to  be  cleaned, 
you  know,  and  didn't  get  back.  I  dare  say  Mace- 
doine's place  was  even  more  completely  furnished  at 
the  company's  expense.  They  all  did  it.  Perhaps 
that  was  one  of  the  reasons  we  all  had  to  come  home. 
That  was  .  .  .  yes,  more  than  twenty  years 
ago. 

*'I'm  afraid,  though,  there  were  not  many  of  us 
like  Macedoine.  We  didn't  come  home  to  retire  on 
a  competency.  New  Orleans  used  to  be  what  they 
called  '  a  wide-open  little  town '  and  there  were  plenty 
of  ways  of  getting  rid  of  our  wages,  good  as  they 
were.  However,  that's  a  detail.  We  came  home, 
except  one  or  two  youngsters  who  struck  west  and 
got  into  Nevada  mining  plants  or  San  Francisco 
lumber  ships.  I  was  glad  to  come.  I  had  a  few 
shots  in  the  locker  and  I  went  down  into  Hampshire 
to  see  my  people.  I  didn't  stay  as  long  as  I  in- 
tended. Who  of  us  ever  does.'*  After  the  first  glow 
of  welcome  dies  away,  we  have  to  depend  on  our 
personal  attractions  to  keep  people  interested.     We 


12       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

may  keep  the  ball  rolling  a  little  longer  if  we  get 
married  or  even  engaged;  but  it  is  a  sorry  business 
after  all.  You  fellows  are  for  ever  wanting  the  ship 
to  go  home.  Well,  you  wait  and  see.  You'll  be  glad 
to  be  back.  When  a  man  has  got  the  sea-habit,  his 
relations  always  regard  him  as  a  bit  of  a  nuisance. 
"  I  went  to  sea  again.  I  joined  a  London  Company 
which  I  always  call  now  *  my  old  company '  because  I 
was  so  long  with  them,  and  have  for  them  a  pecuUar 
sort  of  cantankerous  affection.  They  paid  infernally 
poor  wages,  they  were  always  in  a  hole  financially 
until  the  war  made  them  multi-millionaires,  and 
their  accommodation  was  pretty  poor.  But  for 
some  reason  or  other  men  stayed  with  them.  I 
believe  it  was  because  we  were  working  for  a  private 
firm  and  not  for  one  of  those  gigantic  corporations 
without  soul  to  be  damned  or  body  to  be  kicked,  as 
the  saying  is.  The  firm  were  real  people  to  us. 
They  came  down  to  see  the  ship  in  London  River. 
Old  Gannet — it  was  Gannet,  Prawle  and  Co. — used  to 
leave  a  ten-pound  note  on  the  Chief's  wash-stand 
after  he'd  had  a  yarn  and  a  cigar.  Young  Gannet, 
home  for  the  holidays  from  Winchester  College, 
would  come  down  to  St.  Katherine's  Dock  and  make 
himself  squiffy  with  Madeira  the  skipp>er  had  brought 
home  from  the  Islands.  Prawle  had  been  an  oflSce 
boy  when  old  Gannet  was  young,  and  had  worked  up 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       la 

to  a  partnership  and  married  Daisy  Gannet. 
Smartest  man  on  the  Baltic  Exchange,  they  used  to 
say.  Yes,  their  ships  were  fierce,  but  men  stayed  in 
them.  Even  now,  with  old  Gannet  dead  and  Prawle 
retired,  and  the  management  paying  poor  whiskey- 
soaked  young  Gannet  three  thousand  a  year  to  keep 
out  of  the  oflSce,  the  old  skippers  and  chiefs  are  still 
ploughing  the  ocean  for  them.  You  see,  we  know 
their  ways. 

*'I  went  to  sea,  and  kept  on  at  it.  You  might  say 
it  was  force  of  habit,  for  I  must  admit  I  could  have 
had  jobs  ashore  in  those  days.  Not  now.  But  then 
I  could.  But  it  grows  on  one,  going  to  sea.  And  I 
was  making  friends.  There's  nothing  like  a  ship- 
mate who  is  a  friend.  The  mere  fact  of  you  or  him 
joining  another  ship  and  sailing  away  is  nothing. 
When  you  meet  again  you  take  up  the  tale  where  you 
dropped  it,  years  before,  half  the  world  away.  But 
you  must  be  young.  It  is  impossible  to  weld  friend- 
ships when  the  heat  of  youth  has  gone  out.  Interests, 
family  ties,  danger,  sorrow,  all  may  do  something, 
but  only  when  you  are  young  can  you  make  the 
friendships  that  nothing  can  destroy." 

Mr.  Spenlove  paused,  and  for  a  moment  there  was 
no  sound  save  the  purr  of  the  dynamos  under  their 
feet,  the  soft  swish  and  suck  of  the  waves  flowing  in 
and  out  of  the  undercut  marble  cliffs,  and  the  steady 


14       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

tramp  of  the  Quartermaster  patrolling  to  and  fro  at 
the  gangway.  One  of  the  noticeable  points  about 
Spenlove  was  that  he  fitted  into  no  standard  gauge. 
Neither  the  Surgeon  nor  the  Oxonian  could  "place" 
him  precisely,  they  would  confess.  Nor  could  the 
more  experienced  Ueutenants,  highly  certificated 
gentlemen  from  the  Liverpool  to  New  York  Ferry 
steamers.  With  unconscious  humour  they  "won- 
dered such  a  man  should  go  to  sea."  The  notion  that 
the  sea  should  be  peopled  exclusively  with  moral 
and  intellectual  derelicts  dies  hard.  The  fact  was, 
Mr.  Spenlove  was  a  connoisseur  of  humanity.  He 
seemed  to  have  met  so  many  types  that  he  un- 
consciously addressed  himself  to  the  fundamentals!) 
V.He  took  the  inevitable  superficial  features  of  one^s 
character  for  granted.  This  made  him  easy  to 
accept  but  difficult  to  understand.  And  so,  when  he 
spoke  of  friendship  and  youth,  the  other  men  did  not 
laugh.  They  were  silent — some  with  assent,  some 
with  doubt,  and  some,  possibly,  with  regret. 

"I  was  second  of  one  of  their  oldest  boats  for  two 
years  and  Jack  Evans  was  mate.  Jack  and  I  be- 
came friends.  I  don't  mean  that  the  Mate  and  the 
Second  of  that  old  ship  went  about  with  their  arms 
wound  round  each  other's  necks.  We  were,  on  the 
contrary,  very  often  at  each  other's  throats,  so  to 
speak.     Mates  and  second-engineers  are  profession- 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       15 

ally  antagonistic.  We  had  terrific  altercations  over 
stores,  for  the  company  patronized  one  of  those  old- 
fashioned  ship  chandlers  who  sent  cabin,  deck,  and 
engine  stores  all  in  one  chaotic  heap.  Jack  would 
get  my  varnish  and  I  would  snafl3e  a  couple  of  bolts 
of  his  canvas.  But  that  would  all  blow  away  by  tea 
time,  when  we'd  go  ashore  and  spend  the  evening 
together.  Mind  you,  we  were  neither  of  us  very 
good  young  men.  We  .  .  .  well,  we  had  some 
good  times  and  some  bad  ones.  We  were  shifted 
together  into  another  ship.  Then  Jack,  who'd  been 
nine  soHd  years  mate  in  the  company  and  was  getting 
so  angry  about  it  that  the  port-captain  used  to  avoid 
him.  Jack  got  a  command.  I  shall  never  forget  it. 
We  were  lying  as  peaceably  as  you  please  in  the  top 
comer  of  the  old  Queens  Dock,  Glasgow.  It  was 
Saturday  night  and  all  was  snug  for  a  quiet  week-end. 
Jack  and  I  were  in  his  room  under  the  bridge  having 
a  nip,  when  a  telegraph-boy  came  clattering  down  the 
brass-edged  staircase.  Jack  opened  the  wire,  read 
it,  and  then  gave  me  a  thump  on  the  back  that  nearly 
broke  it.  He  was  a  stout,  florid-faced,  peppery  little 
Welshman.  What  I  liked  about  him  was  his  crystal- 
clear  character.  What  he  thought  came  out  like  a 
shell  out  of  a  gun — with  an  explosion.  'The  old 
thief's  given  me  a  ship  at  last!'  he  roared.  And  he 
had  to  pack  and  get  away  that  night  to  Bristol.     I 


16       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

went  for  a  cab  while  he  got  his  dunnage  together. 
And  I  remember  now,  waiting  on  the  platform  at  the 
Union  Station  for  the  train  to  move,  with  Jack  in  a 
comer  of  the  compartment  drunk  as  a  lord,  and 
snoring. 

*'  It  was  in  London  I  met  him  again.  We  had  had 
a  collision  and  I  was  one  of  the  witnesses  called  by  the 
company  to  swear  our  ship  was  innocent.  She 
wasn't:  she  wasn't:  she  did  everything  she  shouldn't 
have  done — but  no  matter.  We  all  stayed  at  a  little 
hotel  in  the  Strand,  getting  a  guinea  a  day  expenses, 
and  we  all  swore  black  was  white,  and  the  owners, 
our  owners,  lost  the  case.  They  had  already  lost  the 
ship,  so  we  were  told  to  go  home  and  wait  a  few 
weeks  until  they  could  get  hold  of  another  one  cheap. 
Of  course  most  of  the  crowd  joined  other  companies, 
but  I  went  off  to  Waterloo  to  inflict  myself  on  my 
people  in  Hampshire  again.  And  it  was  at  the 
bookstall  that  I  saw  Jack  staring  at  the  illustrated 
papers  and  jangling  the  money  in  his  pockets.  He 
was  in  a  very  shabby  condition,  I  may  tell  you.  His 
chin  was  a  rich  growth  of  black  stubble,  his  round 
protuberant  brown  eyes  were  bloodshot,  and  his 
clothes  had  been  slept  in,  I'm  sure.  'Thank  God 
it's  you,  Fred,'  he  splutters  out,  for  he  jumped  like  a 
cat  when  I  touched  him.  We  went  into  the  bar  and 
he  told  me  how  he  had  fallen  on  such  evil  days.     His 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       17 

ship  had  been  away  nearly  a  year  on  the  west  coast  of 
South  America.  He  hadn't  spent  a  pound  in  the 
whole  trip.  No  going  ashore,  nobody  to  speak  to, 
nothing.  And  here  he'd  come  into  London  River  and 
paid  off.  It  was  easy  to  see  what  had  happened.  A 
young  hot-blooded  man  with  three  or  four  hundred 
pounds  in  his  pocket,  and  no  decent  friends  in  town. 
His  contempt  for  himself  was  rather  amusing. 
*Take  me  away,  Fred,'  he  implored.  *Take  me 
somewhere  where  I  shan't  be  tempted.' 

"'The  fact  is,'  I  said,  as  we  made  for  the  barber 
shop,  *you  ought  to  get  married,  Jack.' 

"'Who'd  have  a  drunken  old  swab] like  me?'  he 
inquired,  sadly.  'You  know  I've  been  brought  up 
common.' 

"He  was  very  contrite,  but  eventually,  when  he 
had  got  himself  spruced  up,  changed  his  clothes  and 
fetched  his  dunnage  out  of  the  terrible  little  hotel 
near  Waterloo  station  where  he  had  been  lured,  he 
began  to  take  a  less  austere  view  of  himself.  He  was 
determined,  however,  never  to  wallow  in  the  mire 
again.  He  was  a  ship-master.  His  plump,  rosy  face 
grew  pale  and  drawn  at  the  possibilities  which  he  had 
risked.  He  was  a  typical  British  sailor  man.  Riot- 
ous living  was  really  distasteful  to  him,  but  he  had 
no  idea  of  getting  rid  of  his  money  in  any  other  way. 
However,  I  missed  that  train  and  took  him  down 


18       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

with  me  to  Hampshire  next  day.  It  was  one  of  the 
great  deeds  of  my  career.  He  fell  in  love  the  very 
first  week." 

**But  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  Captain  Mace- 
doine  and  this  Island  of  Ipsilon.'*"  enquired  the  small, 
precise  voice  of  the  Paymaster. 

For  a  moment  there  was  no  reply.  It  was  very 
dark  imder  the  awning  now,  for  the  moon  was  still 
behind  the  cliffs.  Four  bells  rang  at  the  gangway. 
Mr.  Sj)enlove  lit  a  cigarette  and  continued. 

**Have  you  ever  seen  a  sea-captain  in  the  throes  of 
adoration?  It  is  an  astonishing  sight.  Jack  was 
what  he  himself  called  *  open  as  the  day.'  Mind  you, 
I  had  no  ulterior  motive  in  taking  my  old  friend  down 
home  with  me.  I  had  no  plain  sisters  or  cousins  to 
get  settled  in  life.  Both  plain  and  pretty  in  our 
family  were  married  and  gone  when  we  arrived.  We 
lived,  you  know,  just  outside  Threxford,  a  small 
town  six  miles  from  a  railway,  tucked  away  in  the 
valley  of  the  Threxe,  about  ten  miles  from  where  that 
small  stream  faUs  into  the  Channel.  It  was  a  lovely 
spot,  but  so  dreadfully  quiet  I  could  never  h've  there 
very  long.  Over  the  town  hung  a  high  hill  crowned 
by  the  workhouse.  You  see,  it  was  the  workhouse 
master's  daughter  Jack  had  fallen  in  love  with." 

"Captain  Macedoine's  daughter.'^"  suggested  the 
Paymaster. 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       19 

** No,  a  very  different  person,  I  assure  you.  Made- 
line Hanson  had  been  brought  up  in  a  very  secluded 
way.  It  couldn't  have  been  otherwise.  Old  Hanson 
occupied  a  somewhat  dubious  position  in  the  social 
life  of  England.  A  workhouse  master  is  not  the  sort 
of  man  either  rich  or  poor  want  to  have  much  to  do 
with.  He  is  like  the  hangman  or  jailer  or  rag-and- 
bone  man;  a  necessary  evil.  But  he  may  be,  as 
Hanson  was,  a  most  respectable  person.  And 
Madeline,  his  only  child,  was  brought  up  in  almost 
solitary  confinement  until  she  was  twenty.  I  believe 
she  went  to  an  aunt  in  Portsmouth  occasionally. 
Anyhow  it  suited  her.  She  was  a  puny,  flat-chested 
little  girl,  very  prim  and  precise,  and  would  bridle 
at  once  when  any  one  laughed  or  made  a  joke.  I 
never  discovered  exactly  how  Jack  got  acquainted 
with  her.  At  church  most  likely,  for  he  was  in  full 
cry  after  respectability  and  went  to  church  regularly 
with  my  old  people.  I  know  we  used  to  go  fishing 
together  at  first,  and  later  I  found  myself  going 
alone,  for  Jack  was  meeting  his  inamorata,  and  going 
for  walks.  Oh,  quite  above  board.  Jack  was 
*open  as  the  day.'  He  lost  no  time  in  marching  up 
the  hill  to  the  workhouse  (not  the  first  time  he'd  been 
inside  one,  he  assured  me  grimly)  and  informing  Mr. 
Hanson  that  Captain  Evans  wished  to  pay  attention 
to  Miss  Hanson.     Whether  old  Hanson  was  a  man  of 


20       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

the  world  or  not,  I  cannot  say,  but  he  certainly 
knew  his  daughter  might  go  a  long  way  farther  and 
fare  worse.  Jack's  affair  prospered.  I  have  often 
been  curious  to  know  just  what  they  said  to  each 
other  as  they  prowled  about  the  lanes  in  the  dark.  I 
suppose  it  was  a  case  of  the  attraction  of  opposites. 
For  once,  anyhow,  in  spite  of  novelists,  the  course  of 
true  love  ran  smooth. 

**Of  course  Jack  had  his  fits  of  jealousy.  You  see, 
he  couldn't  understand  how  in  the  world  he  had 
managed  to  pick  such  a  prize  without  having  to  shoot 
up  the  whole  town.  He  even  suspected  me  of  having 
designs  on  his  happiness,  and  I  suddenly  realized  the 
tremendous  difficulty  of  reassuring  him.  You  know, 
it's  a  delicate  business,  disclaiming  all  desire  for  a 
woman.  If  you  overdo  it,  you  rouse  suspicion  at 
once.  When  I  said,  *0h,  no,  I  don't  want  to.  .  .  .' 
Jack  was  up  and  prancing  about  the  room.  'Why, 
do  you  know  anything.'''  he  demanded.  I  soothed 
him,  telling  him  he  knew  I  wasn't  a  marrying  man. 
*That  be  d — d  for  a  tale.  I  wasn't  either  till  I  met 
Madeline.'  I  had  a  stormy  time.  The  contrast 
between  Jack's  volcanic  temperament  and  the  calm, 
meticulous  flow  of  his  courtship  was  comic.  I  was 
thankful  when  he  was  finally  married  and  gone  to 
Ilfrocombe  for  his  highly  respectable  honeymoon. 
And  then,  a  fortnight  later,  I  got  a  telegram  ordering 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       21 

me  to  join  his  ship,  the  Manolay  at  Newcastle,  as 
chief.     We  were  shipmates  once  more. 

"There  now  began  for  me  an  existence  which  is 
rather  difficult  to  describe.  In  cargo-boats,  as  no 
doubt  you  know,  the  skipper  and  chief  can  easily  be 
thrown  together  a  good  deal.  Jack  and  I  of  course 
were.  But  Jack  was  under  the  impression  that  I 
existed  for  the  sole  purpose  of  listening  to  his  rap- 
turous idolizing  of  his  darling  wife.  He  wrote  to 
her  every  day,  and  read  the  letter  to  me  afterward. 
She  wrote  to  him  every  day,  and  when  we  reached 
port  and  the  mail  came  aboard,  Jack  would  read  the 
gist  of  it  to  me.  It  was  like  being  married  oneself. 
He  would  lie  back  in  his  deck  chair  on  the  bridge  on 
fine  evenings  In  the  Mediterranean  and  suck  at  his 
cigar,  sunk  in  thought.  And  then  suddenly  he 
would  bring  out  some  profoundly  novel  and  original 
remark  about  Madeline.  I  had  Madeline  for  break- 
fast, dinner,  supper,  and  between  meals.  It  was 
trying,  but  It  was  nothing  compared  with  the  fright- 
ful time  I  put  in  with  him  the  voyage  the  baby  was 
born.  We  were  in  Genoa,  and  he  wired  home  every 
day.  I  would  march  him  up  town  in  the  evening  and 
stand  him  drinks,  which  he  swallowed  without  look- 
ing at  them.  And  It  never  entered  his  head  that  it 
was  possibly  less  important  to  me  than  to  him.  When 
a  telegram  came,  'Daughter,  both  doing  well,'  he 


22       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

ordered  grog  for  all  hands,  took  me  up  town,  and 
stood  champagne  to  every  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry  in 
the  Verdi  Bar.  I  got  him  down  to  the  harbour  in  a 
carriage  and  he  wanted  to  fight  me  because  I  laughed 
when  he  told  the  driver  that  he  was  going  to  call  the 
baby  Angelina  Madeline  Evans. 

"He  did,  too.  Life  for  me  became  impregnated 
with  Madeline  and  Angelina  as  with  a  domestic 
odour.  That  marvellous  child  haunted  my  hours  of 
leisure  long  before  I  had  ever  seen  her.  As  the 
months  and  years  passed,  and  Jack  and  I  fared  up 
and  down  the  world  together,  I  sometimes  wondered 
whether  we  hadn't  both  married  Madeline.  Jack 
was  a  model  husband.  The  notion  that  any  other 
woman  existed,  or  that  any  other  man  could  love  a 
woman  as  he  loved  Madeline,  never  entered  his  head. 
He  was  perfectly  satisfied  as  long  as  one  sat  and 
listened  to  him  talking  about  Madeline.  I  believe  he 
would  have  urged  me  to  go  and  do  likewise,  if  he 
hadn't  been  convinced  that  no  more  Madelines  were 
available.  I  believe,  too,  he  thought  me  a  bit  of  an 
ass  to  take  him  down  and  introduce  him  instead  of 
marrying  her  myself.  But  as  you  will  see,  she  and  I 
were  not  aflSnities. 

"So  life  went  on,  and  now  I  am  coming  to  the 
time  when  Captain  Macedoine's  daughter  comes  into 
the  thing.    Oh,  no,  I  haven't  forgotten  what  I  was 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       23 

talking  about.  Time  passed,  and  one  voyage  we 
left  home  with  Jack  in  an  anxious  frame  of  mind. 
The  child  was  about  five  years  old  then  and  she  was 
sick.  Something  the  matter  with  her  throat.  Jack 
was  like  a  caged  bear  when  we  got  to  sea.  There  was 
no  wireless  then,  you  know.  You  would  have  thought 
there  had  never  been  a  sick  child  on  earth  before. 
'Fred,'  he  would  say,  'I  left  orders — ^get  the  best 
advice,  best  of  everything.  I  don't  give  a  damn  what 
it  costs.'  And  he'd  prance  to  and  fro.  He  never 
looked  at  the  ship.  If  we  dropped  a  knot  below  our 
customary  two  hundred  a  day,  he'd  be  in  my  room 
growling,  *  Aren't  we  ever  goin'  to  get  to  Alexandria, 
Fred? '  When  we  did  get  there  he  fled  up  to  the  post 
office  to  get  his  mail — forgot  all  about  ours  of  course. 
'  Not  yet  out  of  danger — dipfUheriay'  so  ran  the  telegram 
in  reply  to  his  own  frantic  message.  I  never  had 
such  a  time  in  my  life.  He  was  like  a  man  demented. 
He  would  catch  me  by  the  shoulder  and  coat-collar 
and  glare  at  me  out  of  his  bulging,  blood-shot  brown 
eyes,  his  fat  cheeks  all  drawn  into  pouches,  and 
stutter,  'Fred,  this  is  the  end  o'  me.  If  I  lose  one  I 
lose  both.  My  God,  I've  a  good  mind  to  go  home. 
I  tell  you  I'm  going  off  my  head.  If  I  lose  one  I 
lose  both.  Madeline'll  never  live  through  the  loss  o' 
the  child.  What  shall  I  do,  oh,  what  shall  I  do?'  I 
believe  he  used  to  go  into  his  cabin,  shut  the  door,  and 


24       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

fjester  the  Almighty  with  his  p)etitions.  You  know, 
they  say  domestic  ties  strengthen  a  man's  per- 
sonaHty,  stimulate  him  to  ambition.  I  have  not 
noticed  it.  On  the  contrary,  it  has  often  seemed  to 
me  that  married  men  adopt  the  ethics  of  the  jungle. 
Life  for  them  is  a  case  of  the  man  and  his  mate 
against  the  world.  The  jungle  reverberates  with 
their  cries  of  rage,  jealousy,  and  amorous  delight. 
"What  are  literature  and  drama  but  the  coordination 
of  these  elevated  cat-calls?" 

"Oh,  come!'*  murmured  the  Surgeon. 

"WeU,  isn't  it?"  demanded  Mr.  Spenlove.  "WTiat 
made  this  war  so  popular?  Wasn't  it  simply 
because  it  supplied  men  who  had  been  surfeited 
with  love,  with  an  almost  forgotten  inspiration? 
Hadn't  we  been  bred  for  a  generation  on  Love, 
beautiful  Love,  which  laughed  at  locksmiths  and 
made  the  world  go  round?  And  here  came  Hate 
to  have  a  turn!  I  tell  you,  something  had  to 
happen  or  we  should  all  have  gone  crazy.  Captain 
Evans,  with  his  exalted  notions  of  domestic  affection, 
was  our  ideal.  We  were  becoming  monsters  of 
marital  egotism.  You  remember  that  song  on  the 
halls: 

*'What  more  can  you  ward  when  you've  got  your  vnje  and  kids. 
And  a  nice  little  home  of  your  own? 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       25 

"That  was  rapidly  becoming  the  sum  total  of 
England's  morality.  All  men  were  *men  without  a 
country'  and  they  didn't  much  care  even  if  they 
were  citizens  of  a  mean  city,  so  long  as  their  own 
contemptible  little  hutch  was  secure.  I  rather  think 
the  war  has  dealt  that  doctrine  an  ugly  blow." 

*'Well,  go  on,"  said  somebody. 

"You  must  remember  that  Jack  and  his  Madeline 
didn't  simply  look  down  on  the  rest  of  the  world  as 
sordid  worms  who  couldn't  appreciate  such  a  holy 
passion.  They  didn't  think  of  us  at  all.  We 
didn't  exist.  Nothing  existed — for  them — outside 
that  microscopic  domestic  circle.  Madeline  had 
been  brought  up  to  be  refined,  reserved,  'not  like 
other  girls.'  She  silently  and  unconsciously  laid 
down  a  narrow-gauge  line  along  which  she  and  Jack 
were  to  advance  through  life,  and  Jack,  who  was  one 
of  those  men  who  are  very  much  what  their  wives 
make  them,  was  only  too  glad  to  get  his  orders. 
And  he,  with  the  intuition  of  despair,  knowing  her  to 
be  besotted  with  pride  in  their  child  almost  beyond 
endurance,  gobbled  hoarsely  in  my  ear  in  the  night 
watches  that  if  one  died  the  other  would  follow,  and 
leave  him  desolate. 

"Well,  the  child  didn't  die.  I  have  sometimes 
wondered  whether  it  was  anything  more  than  a  sore 
throat.     It  doesn't  matter.     When  we  came  home. 


36       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

Angelina  was  on  the  mend,  and  the  cable  companies 
must  have  noticed  a  falling  off  in  their  receipts.  I 
was  relieved.  I  mean  in  mind.  Jack  tore  off  home 
for  a  night  to  see  for  himself.  He  told  me  afterward 
*he  nearly  cracked  Madeline's  ribs,'  he  was  so  glad  to 
see  her.  Mind,  he'd  only  been  away  six  weeks! 
Think  of  it,  in  the  light  of  the  recent  years.  Not 
that  I  believed  him.  Women  like  Mrs.  Evans  don't 
get  their  ribs  cracked.  No  matter.  My  relief  was 
speedily  changed  to  grave  apprehension  when  he  came 
back  to  the  ship  accompanied  by  wife,  child,  and  a 
nuree,  and  annoimced  that  he  had  obtained  per- 
misiion  to  take  them  a  voyage.  It  was  one  of  the 
imusual  points  of  old  Gannet's  employ — ^he  allowed 
each  skipper  and  chief  to  take  their  wives  one  voyage 
per  year.  I  had  been  through  it  before,  and  dis- 
liked the  prospect.  I  have  sometimes  wondered 
whether  old  Gannet  had  a  secret  and  sinister  iiiten- 
tion,  for  it  is  a  fact  that  you  can't  honestly  say  you 
know  a  woman  until  you  have  been  to  sea  with  her. 
No  woman  looks  her  best,  either  physically  or  men- 
tally, at  sea.  Oh,  of  course  if  you  are  married  to  her 
as  well,  the  case  is  different.  I  offer  no  opinion. 
But  I  know  of  one  young  man  at  least  who  broke  it 
off  after  enduring  a  voyage  with  a  hen-pecked 
captain. 

"I  misjudged  Jack,  however.     Jack  was  his  wife's 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       27 

slave,  but  he  remained  in  command  of  his  ship.  You 
see  he  also  had  been  at  sea  with  skippers'  wives  in  the 
past.  *One  word,  Madeline,  and  home  you  go,' 
came  up  the  ventilator  as  I  was  sitting  on  the  bridge 
after  tea.  I  was  astounded.  It  was  a  new  Jack,  or 
rather,  the  old  fiery,  original  Jack.  The  next  sen- 
tence, in  reply  to  some  inaudible  remark  of 
Madeline's,  explained  what  I  had  thought  was  a 
quarrel.  'Well,  we  must  have  an  understanding 
before  we  sail.  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about, 
dear.  I've  been  Mate  many  a  year  and  I  never 
would  stand  the  Skipper's  missus  interfering  with 
the  ship's  discipline.' 

"I  was  admiring  Jack  for  this  sagacious  warning 
when  there  came  a  squawl  from  his  bath-room,  where 
the  nurse-girl  was  washing  Angelina.  Mrs.  Evans 
rustled  across,  crying  out  instructions  concerning 
Babs,  as  they  called  the  youngster.  And  then  came 
Jack's  voice  exploding  in  amazement.  *Whafs 
that  gel's  name,  Madeline?  What  *d  you  call  her?' 
And  a  voice  as  clear,  as  soft  and  as  pure  as  a  silver 
bell  answered: 

"'Artemisia    Macedoine,    Captain.     That's    my 


CHAPTER  II 

AND  though  things  do  happen  like  that 
/%  sometimes,  as  I  sat  in  my  chair,  quite 
1  ^  innocently  alongside  the  Captain's  venti- 
lator, and  sucked  at  my  cigar,  I  was  taken 
aback.  It  was  like  a  voice  coming  up  from  the 
tomb — the  tomb  of  a  buried  past.  In  a  way  it  was  a 
relief,  for  I  was  becoming  so  involved  in  Jack's 
domestic  life  that  I  was  losing  touch  with  the  out- 
side world  altogether.  The  sound  of  that  name 
recalled  to  me  my  old,  unregenerate,  wandering  self. 
I  had  not  forgotten  him.  One  never  forgets  a 
master  of  illusion,  such  as  he  surely  was.  But  the 
very  existence  of  so  imaginative  a  man  seemed  doubt- 
ful in  the  company  of  matter-of-fact,  open-minded, 
good  old  honest  Jack.  Jack's  lack  of  the  power  of 
dissembling  and  allusion  was  devastating.  He  had 
no  more  nuance,  as  the  French  say,  than  a  fog-horn. 
Think  of  a  man  who  could  say  to  the  wife  of  his 
bosom,  the  goddess  before  whom  he  worshipped  with 
preposterous  self-abasement — 'One  word,  and  home 
you  go!*    Jack  would  have  had  one  word  for  Mace- 

28 


CAPTAIN  jVLiCEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       29 

dome  and  one  only — Faker.  But  I  have  found,  in 
the  course  of  my  rolHng  existence,  that  fakers  are 
often  more  interesting,  intrinsically,  than  careful, 
honest  men. 

"And  I  had  heard,  in  a  roundabout  way,  some 
years  before,  that  Captain  Macedoine  had  not  only 
been  an  illustrious  faker  but  a  fairly  compyetent 
swindler  as  well.  We  were  discharging  machinery 
and  stores  at  Cristobal,  when  a  yoimg  chap  who*d 
been  Junior  Fourth  in  the  old  Maracaibo  Line  came 
aboard  and  had  a  chat.  He  was  one  of  those  who 
hadn't  gone  home.  Indeed,  he  was  able  to  take  out 
his  final  papers — ^never  mind  how — as  soon  as  he  was 
paid  oflF,  and  being  a  decent  young  chap,  fairly  clever 
and  a  good  mixer,  he  had  soon  gotten  a  billet  in  the 
Canal  Zone.  For  some  reason  or  other  he  had  liked 
me  when  we  were  shipmates.  I  remembered  him  as 
having  no  aptitude  for  the  sea.  He  had  a  sweet- 
heart in  England  he  was  always  talking  about,  but  he 
married  in  the  States,  of  course.  Well,  young 
Cotter,  with  his  little  waxed  moustache  and  his 
superior  bank  clerk's  manner,  walked  aboard,  shook 
me  warmly  by  the  hand,  and  gave  me  an  immense 
quantity  of  miscellaneous  news.  What  with  the 
Yucatan  ships  calhng  three  or  four  times  a  week. 
Cotter  was  up  to  date  with  everything  happ)ening 
from  Galveston  to  Biloxi  and  from  Tampa  to  Boston. 


30       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

Did  I  remember  So-and-so — chap  with  a  squint,  or  a 
mole,  or  a  broken  finger,  as  the  case  might  be.  Cotter 
always  emphasized  a  man's  physical  defects  in 
alluding  to  him.  And  so  the  talk  came  round  to 
*0h,  did  I  remember  that  chap  with  the  solemn  face 
and  the  big  stomach?  Captain  Macedoine  we 
used  to  call  him?  Why,  didn't  you  hear?  Extra- 
dition order.  Yes!  The  cunning  old  guy  had  a 
dozen  opium  dives  off  Rampart  Street  in  full  swing. 
Must  have  been  coining  money.  No,  they  never  got 
him.  He  had  left  England  by  that  time.  Nobody 
knows  where  he  is  now,  I  suppose.  Smart,  eh?' 
Such  was  Captain  Macedoine  to  me  as  I  sat  listening 
to  the  good  Jack  sputtering  in  his  cabin: 

"'Great  Christopher!  And  who  in  thunder  gave 
you  a  name  like  that.  What  is  it,  agaiu? '  And  then 
Mrs.  Evans  interposing  with  *That  will  do,  dear. 
She  can't  help  her  name.' 

"'A  h— 1  of  a  name  for  a  servant,'  muttered  Jack. 

"Well,  poor  Jack  found  that  taking  his  family  to 
sea  was  a  more  formidable  affair  than  he  had  im- 
agined. The  fact  was,  Jack,  although  he  had  been 
married  six  years,  knew  no  more  about  married  life 
than  a  bachelor.  He  hadn't  spent  more  than  a  week 
at  one  time  alongside  of  his  wife.  Many  sea-faring 
men  are  like  this.  The  very  routine  of  ordinary 
household  existence  is  novel  to  them.     They  live 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       31 

voyage  after  voyage  at  sea,  dreaming  of  an  impos- 
sibly perfect  existence  ashore,  and  their  brief  holi- 
days, in  their  wives'  houses  only  confirm  them  in  the 
delusion  that  shore  Hfe  is  heaven,  and  life  on  board 
ship  hell.  Whereas,  you  know,  it  is  really  the 
other  way  round." 

**0h,  I  say!"  said  Inness,  who,  in  spite  of  Oxford, 
retained  his  illusions. 

"What  rot,  Spenlove!"  said  the  First  Lieutenant, 
a  gentleman  still  unmarried,  but  rigidly  engaged. 

"Ah,  but  you  forget,"  retorted  Mr.  Spenlove, 
laughing  softly  as  he  gazed  up  at  the  moon  now  high 
over  the  cliff.  He  looked  very  like  a  benevolent 
satyr  as  he  sat  leaning  forward  in  his  chair,  his  chin 
on  his  hands,  his  trim  gray  beard  pushed  out,  and 
his  curiously  slanted  black  eyebrows  raised — "You 
forget  that  I  am  dealing  with  basic  realities.  You 
forget  that  ninety-nine  sailor-men  out  of  each 
hundred  feed  themselves  exclusively  on  dreams. 
You  are  like  the  donkey  who  imagines  he  sees  a 
resplendent  carrot  hung  in  front  of  him.  It  is  not 
only  that  he  never  gets  the  carrot.  There  never  was 
any  carrot  for  him  to  get.  I  repeat — dear  old  Jack 
Evans  was  not  a  bit  singular  in  his  illusions,  any 
more  than  Captain  Macedoine  was  in  his.  They 
believed  in  them  a  bit  longer  than  you  young  fellows 
do  nowadays,  that's  all." 


3<i       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

"Well,  go  on,'*  suggested  the  Doctor,  and  moved 
out  of  the  moonlight  into  the  shadow,  so  that  Mr. 
Spenlove  remained  alone  and  app>eared  to  be  talking 
to  himself. 

"Of  course,  so  far,  I  hadn't  seen  any  of  the  party 
save  Jack.  I'd  been  ashore  when  they  arrived — did 
I  say  we  were  in  Middlesborough-on-Tees? — for  I  had 
friends  at  Stockton.  I  was  really  concerned,  for  know- 
ing what  a  headlong,  forthright  fool  Jack  was,  I  ex- 
pected to  do  or  say  something  that  might  spoil  his 
life's  happiness.  And  here  he  was  complicating 
matters  ten-fold  by  bringing  a  nurse-girl,  a  *  gov- 
erness.' And  while  I  sat  there  pondering  upon  the 
possibilities,  the  Mate  came  up  with  an  expression  of 
immense  cunning  on  his  face,  his  hand  funnelled 
round  his  mouth,  and  whispered  '  Seen  'em.  Mister? ' 

"I  shook  my  head.  Mr.  Bloom,  Basil  Bloom,  had 
been  only  a  couple  of  trips  with  us,  and  I  knew  Jack 
had  very  little  use  for  him.  Mr.  Bloom,  indeed,  was 
one  of  those  extraordinary  men  who  go  to  sea  year 
after  year,  and  not  only  do  they  never  seem  to  attain 
to  any  decent  mastery  of  their  profession,  but  in 
their  speech  and  manner  and  appearance  they  re- 
semble piano-tuners  or  billiard-markers  more  than 
sailors.  Bloom  had  a  moustache  like  an  Italian 
hair-dresser's,  immense,  fine,  full,  and  silky,  with 
moist  red  lips  eternally  parting  and  showing  a  set  of 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       33 

perfect  false  teeth.  His  papers  were  miracles  of 
eulogy,  his  discharges,  save  that  he  had  been  in  a 
good  many  ships,  without  blemish.  And  yet  from 
the  moment  he  had  come  jauntily  on  board  the 
previous  voyage.  Jack  had  been  straining  like  a 
terrier  on  the  leash.  Mr.  Bloom  seemed  to  do  noth- 
ing right.  It  had  been  my  lot  to  hear  both  sides  of 
the  question.  Jack,  over  a  whiskey-and-soda  in  my 
room,  would  bewail  his  fate  at  having  an  agricultural 
labourer  sent  him  as  chief  oflBcer;  and  next  day,  Mr. 
Bloom,  bringing  me  the  position  and  distance  run, 
would  twirl  his  moustache  and  allude  to  the  amaz- 
ingly incompetent  persons  who  secured  commands 
nowadays.  Of  course  I  sided  with  Jack.  Mr.  Bloom 
was  nothing  to  me.  He  was  the  sort  of  man  I 
would  much  rather  hit  in  the  face  than  shake  hands 
with.  The  man  didn't  look  like  a  sailor.  He  had  no 
sea-going  gear.  Jack  nearly  had  a  seizure  on  my 
settee  when  he  told  me  the  new  Mate  was  patrolhng 
the  bridge  in  red  silk  socks,  patent-leather  dress- 
pumps,  and  an  old  Norfolk  jacket.  When  we  began 
to  roll  off  Ushant  and  ship  a  few  seas,  it  appeared 
Mr.  Bloom  had  neither  oilskins  nor  sea-boots.  To 
see  him  skipping  along  through  green  sea  water  in 
his  dress-pumps,  to  look  at  the  patent  log,  was  a 
revelation  of  human  improvidence.  Here  was  a 
man  the  wrong  side  of  forty,  and  he  hadn't  the  sense 


34       CAPTAIN  IVIACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

to  bring  suitable  clothing  to  sea  with  him!  At  the 
table  he  bewildered,  angered,  and  contradicted  poor 
old  Jack  with  political  argument.  Once,  after 
getting  his  anchors  fouled,  and  firing  his  clutch- 
blocks,  and  otherwise  making  a  mess  of  things  on  the 
forecastle-head,  he  had  the  temerity  to  tell  Jack  that 
*  every  shipmaster  ought  to  have  tariff-reform  at  his 
finger-ends.'  Jack  neariy  had  apoplexy.  He  man- 
aged to  sputter  out  that  *  every  mate  ought  to  have 
his  job  at  his  finger-ends,  or  else  go  home  and  buy  a 
farm.'  Mr.  Bloom,  holding  his  fine  military  figure 
erect  and  delicately  preening  his  moustache,  told  me 
afterward  'That's  the  worst  of  these  young  ship- 
masters— they  think  insults  are  arguments.' 

"Now  I  saw  trouble  ahead  for  Jack  with  Mr. 
Bloom  on  board.  I  don't  pretend  to  have  a  very 
profound  insight  into  human  character,  but  I  had  an 
indefinable  conviction  that  Mrs.  Evans  would  look 
favourably  upon  Mr.  Basil  Bloom.  Oh,  no,  I  don't 
mean  that  my  prurient  mind  was  gloating  over  the 
destruction  of  Jack's  marital  bliss.  Not  at  all.  I 
never  liked  Madeline,  but  I  do  her  the  justice  of 
proclaiming  her  inviolable  chastity.  What  I  mean 
is,  I  felt  that  she  had  more  in  common  intellectually 
with  Mr.  Bloom  than  with  us.  He  had  a  good  deal 
of  the  fussiness  of  middle-aged  shore-people,  clearing 
his  throat,  coughing  behind  his  hand,  saying  'excuse 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       35 

me,*  smoothing  his  hair  with  his  palm,  and  referring 
to  things  he  had  seen  *in  the  papers/  And  in  spite 
of  his  inadequate  sea-going  gear,  he  invariably  ap- 
peared in  a  more  or  less  clean  stiff  collar.  A  woman, 
I  mean  a  genteel  woman,  will  never  utterly  condemn 
any  man  so  long  as  he  wears  a  collar.  This  would 
not  have  mattered  save  that  Jack  and  I  invariably 
abandoned  collars  as  soon  as  the  pilot  had  left. 

"So,  when  Mr.  Basil  Bloom,  in  a  dirty  gray  lounge 
suit,  brown  Oxford  shoes,  a  grimy  collar,  and  a  deer- 
stalker hat,  bent  over  me  and  enquired  if  I  had  seen 
the  arrivals,  I  shook  my  head  and  got  up  to  walk 
away.  But  Mr.  Bloom  detained  me.  Had  I  not 
seen  the  nurse.''  Nice  little  piece  of  goods.  And  the 
baby  was  a  little  angel.  Between  me  and  him,  he 
was  good  enough  to  say,  we  ought  to  have  a  very 
pleasant  trip,  what  with  ladies  on  board,  what?  And 
Mr.  Bloom,  settling  his  dirty  collar  and  concealing  a 
brilliant  smile  behind  a  hairy,  ringed  hand,  walked 
off  to  superintend  his  neglected  work. 

"  I  was  not  such  a  fool  as  to  assume  that  I  could  any 
longer  stroll  into  Jack's  room  and  have  a  chat.  I  am 
not  afraid  of  women,  but  I  regard  their  lairs  with 
considerable  trepidation.  On  board  an  old  tramp 
steamer  a  woman  is  nothing  less  than  a  scourge. 
There  is  no  place  for  her,  and  consequently  you  never 
know  where  you  may  find  her.     If  you  walk  to  and 


36       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

fro  on  the  deck,  you  are  probably  keeping  her  awake. 
If  you  go  out  on  deck  in  your  shirt-sleeves,  or  come 
from  a  bath  with  a  towel  round  you,  you  are  outraging 
her  modesty.  If  you  use  the  ordinary  jargon  of  the 
sea,  she  writes  home  that  the  engineers  are  awfully 
coarse  on  her  husband's  ship.  You  moon  about  in  a 
furtive  fashion,  closing  doors  and  ventilators  when 
you  converse  with  one  another,  and  pray  for  the  day 
when  she  will  quit  the  ship  and  return  to  the  semi- 
detached mansion  in  the  suburbs  where  she  reigns  as 
queen.  Captain  So-and-So's  wife.  I  felt  sadly,  as  I  sat 
in  my  room,  that  my  friendship  with  Jack  would 
remain  for  a  few  weeks  in  a  state  of  suspended  ani- 
mation. I  got  up  several  times,  unconsciously,  to 
go  along,  and  had  to  sit  down  again.  And  as  I  sat 
there,  the  alleyway  was  darkened  and  the  familiar 
stout  figure  and  short  red  neck  appeared.  I  had 
a  little  table  in  my  room  and  as  a  rule  sat  behind  it  on 
the  settee,  while  Jack  sprawled  in  an  old  easy  chair  I 
had  bought  in  Savannah,  a  chair  out  of  an  old 
plantation  mansion.  Jack  sank  into  it  and  remained 
silent  while  I  poured  out  two  pegs  and  squirted 
some  soda-water  into  them.  I  knew  perfectly 
well,  or  thought  I  did,  that'-he  needed  some  restora- 
tive after  his  recent  adventures.  He  drank  it 
thirstily  and  set  the  glass  on  the  table. 

"'Fred,'  he  said,  in  the  cautious  whisper  which,  as 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       37 

I  have  said,  becomes  second  nature  when  there  is  a 
woman  on  board,  *Fred,  I've  made  an  infernal  fool  of 
meself.     TheyVe  let  me  in  at  the  office.* 

"*  Why,'  I  said,  'I  thought  they  did  you  rather  well, 
giving  you  permission  to  take  Mrs.  Evans  and  the 
youngster.  You  know  how  they  wired  Tompkins 
once:  "No  children"?^ 

"*You  don't  know  nothing  about  it,'  says  Jack, 
who  was  invariably  hard  on  English  when  he  was 
moved.  *It's  a  case  of  wheels  within  wheels.  They 
only  did  that  to  get  this  gel  out  for  nothing.  She's 
going  out  to  her  father  in  the  Grecian  Arches,  and 
some  clever  fool  in  the  office  thought  of  sending  her 
down  to  Mrs.  Evans  to  see  if  she'd  do  to  look  after  the 
kid.' 

"*WelI,  it's  only  her  grub  for  a  fortnight  or  so,'  I 
remarked. 

"Jack  looked  solemnly  at  me  and  shook  his  head. 

"'Have  you  seen  her.''' 

"'No,'  I  said,  *Mr.  Bloom  told  me  she  was  a  nice 
little  piece  of  goods.'     Jack  snorted. 

"  'He's  down  in  the  cabin  now  talking  about  what's 
on  at  the  theatres.  Fred,  I'm  in  for  trouble,  and 
you'll  have  to  stand  by  me.' 

"  And  he  was,  for  you  must  bear  in  mind  that  there 
were  others  on  board  besides  Mr.  Bloom.  There 
was  the  Second  Mate,  a  young  man  whose  prospects 


38       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

were  tarnished  by  a  weakness  for  secret  drinking. 
And  there  was  young  Siddons,  a  stripling  just  out  of 
his  apprenticeship  and  uncertificated,  the  son  of  a 
well-to-do  merchant  in  a  country  town.  Jack  used 
to  say  there  was  too  much  of  the  lah-di-dah  about 
him,  and  was  down  on  him  time  and  again.  All  the 
same  he  liked  the  boy,  as  I  did,  too,  for  Siddons  was  a 
gentleman — the  only  one  on  board,  I  used  to  think. 
He  got  the  D.  S.  O.  the  other  day  for  bombing  some- 
thing or  other  in  Germany.  He  was  what  modem, 
educated  smart  women  call  *a  charming  boy'  or  'a 
pretty  little  boy.'  Not  that  he  was  effeminate,  by 
any  means.  He  was  simply  one  of  those  to  whom 
virtuous  sentiment  is  a  passionate  necessity.  Instead 
of  playing  in  the  gutters  of  life,  as  so  many  of  us  do, 
his  young  body  and  soul  were  on  tip-toe  for  the 
coming  of  love.  You  can  see  it  when  they  are  like 
that.  There  is  a  thirsty  look  about  the  lips,  a  turn 
for  moodiness,  a  sudden  dilation  of  the  pupils  as  they 
catch  your  glance,  and  a  quick  flush,  very  pretty  to 
see.  And  sometimes,  I  am  informed,  they  find  a 
woman  worthy  of  the  gifts  they  bear.     .     .     . 

"We  had  a  couple  of  engineers,  too,  but  they  were 
scarcely  to  be  classed  with  young  Siddons.  They 
were  like  a  good  many  of  us,  useful,  shop-soiled 
articles  with  plenty  of  the  meretricious  conventional 
sexuality  which  passes  for  passion  when  stimulated. 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       39 

But  neither  of  them  would  have  got  a  look  from 
a  modern,  educated  smart  woman.  The  Third  I 
didn't  know  very  much  about.  He  came  and  went, 
and  the  principal  impression  I  have  of  him  now  is 
that  he  was  married.  The  Second  had  what  I  should 
call  an  oppressively  incondite  mind.  He  had  a  cold 
avidity  for  facts.  Unlike  most  seamen  he  never 
read  fiction  unless  it  was  some  book  which  had 
achieved  notoriety  for  what  is  called  frankness.  He 
had  a  bookshelf  in  his  cabin  containing  his  shore- 
going  boots  and  a  derby  hat,  a  Whittaker's  Almanac, 
a  Who's  Who,  several  year-books,  and  a  shilling 
encylopedia.  It  was  astonishing,  the  comfort  he 
seemed  to  derive  from  knowing  the  census-returns  of 
Bolivia,  or  the  Republican  majority  in  Oregon,  or  the 
number  of  microbes  in  a  pint  of  milk.  But  it  did  no 
one  any  harm.  I  only  mention  it  because  he,  too,  in 
his  way,  fell  in  love  with  Artemisia  and  for  a  time 
neglected  his  familiar  preoccupations. 

"For  that  is  what  it  amounted  to — that  we  all  fell 
in  love.  Each  of  us  had  to  measure  ourselves  by  this 
standard.  At  certain  times  in  our  lives  we  all  have 
to  drop  what  we  are  doing  and  submit  ourselves  to 
the  test.  I'm  afraid  most  of  us  don't  cut  a  very 
brilliant  figure.  It  is  fortunate  for  us  that  one  can 
achieve  success  in  a  lower  class,  and  can  pass  muster 
as  human  beings  because  we  are  honest  or  sober  or 


40       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

clever,  and  not  simply  because  we  are  worthy  of  love. 
All  the  same,  I  fancy  the  contempt  which  some  of  us 
pour  upon  the  lucky  ones  is  bom  of  envy.  We  wish 
to  be  like  them  in  our  heart  of  hearts.  I  used  to  have 
the  most  preposterous  dreams  of  being  the  lover  of 
some  proud,  beautiful  girl  I  had  read  about  or  seen  in 
the  street. 

"Artemisia  was  like  that.  She  was  one  of  those 
beings  who  inspire  love,  who  are  the  living  embodi- 
ments of  that  tender  philosophy  which  makes  every 
adjustment  of  our  lives  by  sentiment  alone,  and  who 
convince  us,  by  a  gesture,  a  glance,  a  timbre  in  their 
voices,  that  our  lightest  fancy  is  a  grave  resolution 
of  the  soul. 

"It  would  be  easy,  of  course,  to  jeer  at  a  crowd  of 
simple,  half-educated  shell-backs  losing  their  hearts 
to  a  lady-passenger's  maid,  but  that  would  not  be  a 
fair  account  of  it.  We  were  not  simple  in  that  sense. 
My  exp>erience  is  that  contact  with  the  great  ele- 
mental realities  does  not  breed  simplicity  so  much  as 
a  sort  of  cunning.  We  live  deprived  of  so  many  of 
the  amenities  of  culture  and  wealth  that  we  cannot 
credit  our  good  fortune  when  anything  really  fine 
comes  in  our  way.  We  are  not  to  be  had.  We  are 
cautious.  These  good  things  are  for  shore  people. 
And  we  get  into  the  habit  of  good-humoured 
humility,  discounting  ourselves  and  our  shipmates 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       41 

beyond  recall.  We  say, '  only  fools  and  drunkards  go 
to  sea/  and  that  indicates  pretty  accurately  the  value 
we  place  upon  our  hopes  and  aspirations. 

"And  so  you  must  not  expect  me  to  give  you  vivid 
accounts  of  passionate  declarations  of  love  under  the 
Mediterranean  moon,  or  of  desperate  knife-work  in 
the  dark  with  Artemisia  bending  over  the  dying  man 
and  kissing  his  death-dewed  forehead  in  a  last  fare- 
well. The  voyage  went  on  much  as  usual  outwardly. 
The  days  are  gone,  if  they  ever  existed,  when  love 
ruled  the  camp  or  the  quarter  deck.  Yet  there  was 
a  subtle  change.  Men  went  about  their  various 
tasks  with  an  air  of  charged  expectancy.  Now  and 
again  a  couple  could  be  seen  talking  eaxnestly 
together.  The  weather,  until  we  passed  Gibraltar, 
was  against  any  dramatic  developments.  Mrs. 
Evans  and  Angelina  kept  below.  Only  once,  at 
dusk,  while  we  were  passing  the  Burlings,  off  Portu- 
gal, I  looked  over  the  rail  of  the  bridge-deck  and  saw 
young  Siddons  leaning  on  the  bulwarks  below,  his 
head  turned  toward  someone  I  could  not  see.  He 
was  laughing  as  happily  as  a  child.  Leaning  over  a 
little  further  I  saw  a  girl's  finely  articulated  hand  and 
a  comer  of  a  white  apron. 

"But  most  of  us  had  no  chance.  It  sounds  a 
strange  thing  to  say,  but  it  was  almost  as  if  Mrs. 
Evans  herself  regarded  me  as  married  to  her.     As 


42       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

though  because  I  had  been  the  means  of  their  meet- 
ing, I  was  entitled  to  a  sort  of  founder's  share  in 
Angelina !  I  was  in  the  way  to  becoming  an  expert  in 
infant's  complaints.  And  Jack  seemed  to  think 
that  when  I  came  into  the  cabin  to  talk,  he  had  the 
right  of  going  off  duty,  so  to  speak,  and  would  go  up  to 
the  chart  room  to  have  a  smoke.  No,  I  didn't  go 
simply  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Artemisia,  though  she 
was  worth  ghmpsing.  I  went  from  a  sense  of  social 
duty.  I  felt  I  owed  it  to  Jack  to  be  sociable  with  his 
wife.  And  perhaps,  too,  there  was  an  idea  at  the 
back  of  my  head  that  contact  with  Mrs.  Evans  was  a 
corrective  to  any  tendency  I  might  have  to  make  a 
fool  of  myself  over  any  young  woman.  That  was 
Mrs.  Evans'  specialty,  you  might  say.  She  didn't 
mean  it,  but  unconsciously  she  shrivelled  at  the  least 
breath  of  desire.  I  used  to  watch  apprehensively  for 
the  blank  look  in  the  eyes,  the  tightening  of  the 
lips,  the  infinitesimal  drawing  back  of  the  head,  as 
of  a  snake  about  to  strike.  There  was  something 
sharply  astringent  about  her  then,  like  biting  in- 
advertently into  a  green  banana.  And  yet  she  had 
her  gusts  of  enthusiasm  over  'darling  Babs.'  The 
child  was  a  monster  of  egoism,  as  may  be  imagined. 
She  was  very  like  her  father  physically — full-blooded, 
pliunp,  bold-eyed,  and  with  a  {perfectly  devilish 
temper.      Without    warning    she    would    explode. 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       43 

scream,  scratch,  bite,  and  kick,  until  she  got  what  she 
wanted,  when  she  would  subside  as  suddenly  into  a 
self-centred  silence  broken  by  hiccoughs  and  chokes. 
She  wanted  everything — the  watch  and  money  out  of 
your  pocket  and  heart  and  liver  out  of  your  body. 
'Angel  child!'  her  mother  would  call  her,  and  hang 
fondly  over  the  odious  little  brat.  For  the  angel 
child  was  still  supposed  to  be  'delicate.'  Mrs. 
Evans  had  a  case  of  champagne  and  a  stock  of 
Bovril,  and  I  dare  say  some  of  the  displays  I  wit- 
nessed were  due  in  part  to  intoxication.  The  car- 
penter was  busy  all  day  making  gates  and  fences 
round  the  companion  and  bridge  deck  to  prevent  the 
delicate  child  from  crawling  out  and  getting  slung 
overboard.  I  used  to  sit  in  the  cabin  with  the 
angelic  Babs  on  my  knee,  from  which  she  was  always 
slipping,  listening  to  Mrs.  Evans'  account  of  the  diph- 
theria, and  watching  Artemisia  moving  noiselessly 
to  and  fro  in  the  bedroom  or  sitting  just  inside  the 
spare  stateroom  door  sewing.  I  never  enjoyed  looking 
at  a  girl  so  much  in  my  life.  She  was  not  pretty  in 
the  ordinary  sense  of  the  word.  Her  skin  was  not 
the  buttery  yellow  you  associate  with  half-breeds. 
It  was  more  the  russet  brown  of  a  sun-burned  blonde. 
Her  cheeks  had  a  ^of t  peachy  glow  under  the  brown 
bloom  that  was  beautiful.  And  yet  she  did  not  give 
one  the  impression  of  sheer  innocence  and  youth 


44       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINES  DAUGHTER 

which  was  implied  in  her  unique  complexion.  Her 
eyes  were  perfectly  steady  and  unabashed,  her  figure 
was  more  mature  and  matronly  than  Mrs.  Evans', 
and  she  had  a  gravity  of  jK)ise  and  deliberate  move- 
ment that  one  associates  with  the  reflection  bom  of 
experience.  She  gave  me  the  impression,  I  may  say, 
of  a  yoimg  person  who  had  chanced  upwn  some 
astounding  revelation,  and  who  was  preoccupied  with 
both  past  and  future  more  than  the  immediate 
present.  It  made  her  more  attractive  than  less,  I 
think.  She  established  a  certain  careless  fondness 
for  talking  to  Mr.  Chief,  as  she  called  me.  I  dare  say 
I  was  in  love  with  her  even  then.  She  had  a  person- 
ality. I  think  Jack,  who  for  all  his  crude  psychology 
was  a  pretty  shrewd  judge  of  humanity,  saw  some- 
thing beyond  a  mere  desirable  young  girl  in  this 
nurse.  He  used  to  follow  her  round  with  his  eyes  as 
though  he  couldn't  make  her  out.  He  couldn't  re- 
cover from  the  shock  of  her  name.  He  would  sit  in 
the  saloon  watching  her  with  the  child,  and  mutter 
'Artemisia!  Humph!'  She  would  glance  up  from 
her  occupation  and  regard  him  with  steady,  medita- 
tive eyes.  I  was  fascinated  by  the  name  myself.  It 
recalled  Captain  Macedoine  to  me.  It  was  like  him. 
Imagine  that  name  reverberating  down  through  the 
ages  from  ancient  Attica  to  classical  Prance,  taken 
out  across  the  Western  Ocean  by  forlorn  SmigrSsy 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       45 

who  clung  to  their  pretty  trashy  artificialities  in 
spite  of,  or  i)erhaps  because  of,  the  frightfulness  of  the 
wilderness,  handed  on  by  sentimental  and  aristo- 
cratic Creoles,  filched  by  German  Jews  and  prosper- 
ous mulattos,  picked  up  right  in  the  gutter  by  a 
supreme  illusionist  and  given  to  a  young  person  who 
seemed  half  school-girl  and  half  adventuress. 

"For  it  was  perfectly  obvious  to  me  that  whether  I 
had  diagnosed  her  character  truly  or  not,  she  was 
not  at  all  a  suitable  temperament  to  have  about  a 
child.  There  was,  for  instance,  something  ominous 
in  the  sudden  quiet  with  which  she  would  regard  the 
angelic  Babs  when  that  odious  little  being  began  to 
pull  her  hair  or  jump  on  her  feet  or  thump  her  across 
the  back  with  the  heavy  cabin  ruler.  These  things 
happened  to  me,  too;  but  I  could  scarcely  expect  to 
escape.  I  was  Jack's  chum.  I  was  a  bachelor  and 
therefore  credited  with  a  deep  and  passionate  love  of 
children.  Artemisia,  however,  was  a  stranger.  When 
something  particularly  outrageous  occurred,  Mrs. 
Evans,  glancing  up,  would  murmur,  *Oh,  Babs, 
dear!'  and  then,  to  my  considerable  embarrassment, 
I  would  find  Artemisia's  eyes  fixed  inscrutably  upon 
mine  as  she  fended  pS  the  attentions  of  her  charge. 
And  so,  when  I  rose  one  fine  evening  as  we  sailed 
along  the  Spanish  coast,  and  she  followed  me  up  on 
deck,  I  felt  that  she  was  about  to  take  me  into  her 


46       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

confidence.  I  looked  round  as  she  slammed  the 
wicket  which  the  carpenter  had  made  to  keep  Babs 
from  tumbling  down  and  breaking  her  neck,  and  the 
girl's  face  was  close  to  mine.  We  laughed  quietly  in 
the  faint  light  that  came  up  from  the  cabin.  After 
all,  there  was  not  such  a  frightful  disparity  in  our 
ages.  As  we  walked  aft  along  the  bridge  deck,  and 
stood  between  the  funnel  casing  and  the  life  boats — a 
matter  of  seconds — I  might  have  given  a  swerve  to 
both  our  destinies.  There  are  moments,  you  know, 
when  one  can  spring  over  the  most  frightful  chasms 
in  one's  journey  through  life,  and  land  with  both  feet 
on  mossy  banks  and  enamelled  meads.  It  was 
possibly  such  a  moment,  only  I  didn't  take  the 
chance.  As  I  said,  I  prefer  the  part  of  super  in  the 
play — one  sees  so  much  more  than  either  spectator 
or  hero.  And  I  think  she  saw,  too,  in  the  same  flash 
of  intelligence.  And  so,  nothing  happened.  When 
she  spoke  she  merely  asked  in  a  low  tone  what  the 
punishment  was  for  infanticide. 

"'You  know,  Mr.  Chief,'  she  went  on,  putting  up 
her  arms  and  swinging  gently  on  the  life-lines  of  the 
boats,  *It  isn't  fair.  I'd  never  have  taken  it  on  if 
I'd  known  what  I  was  in  for.  I  have  a  devil  of  a 
temper.     I'm  sure  I  shall  do  something  to  that  child.' 

"'To  keep  it  quiet?'  I  suggested.  She  nodded 
rapidly. 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       47 

*"For  good!'  she  replied,  and  added:  'They  never 
used  to  let  me  have  anything  to  do  with  the  kids  at 
school.' 

"* Because  of  the  temper?'     She  nodded  again. 

"  *I  nearly  killed  a  girl  once,'  she  remarked,  calmly. 

**'0h,  tut-tut!'  I  said,  but  she  insisted,  and  her 
eyes  gleamed  with  a  sudden  vixenish  anger.  'Yes, 
Mr.  Chief.  She  was  a  tall,  fair  girl  with  yellow  hair 
and  a  lovely  complexion,  like  an  advertisement  for 
soap.  She  hated  me,  and  told  the  girls  I  would  only 
be  a  nigger  where  she  came  from.  Her  father  was  in 
the  Civil  Service  somewhere.  And  she  kept  on  call- 
ing me  nigger,  and  the  other  girls  followed  her  lead 
until  I  was  nearly  crazy.  And  one  night  I  went  into 
the  lavatory  and  put  a  piece  of  caustic  soda  into  her 
sponge  as  it  lay  on  the  rack.  And  the  next  morning 
when  she  was  washing  there  was  a  horrible  row, 
and  she  ran  up  and  down  the  bedroom  screaming, 
and  her  face  was  all  one  smear  of  crimson  and 
purple.  She  had  to  go  to  hospital  and  it  took 
months  to  heal.  The  sponge  was  left  in  the  water 
and  there  was  nothing  to  show,  but  the  girls  knew 
I'd  done  it  because  I  didn't  run  and  see  what  was 
the  matter.  They  didn't  call  me  nigger  any  more, 
Mr.  Chief.' 

"I  said  I  supposed  not,  and  enquired  if  Mrs. 
Evans  knew  this  story.    Artemisia   shrugged  her 


48       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

shoulders  and  showed  the  tip  of  her  tongue.  *I 
wouldn't  tell  her  much,*  she  replied. 

"'And  you  are  going  out  to  see  your  father?'  she 
nodded.     'He  wants  me  to  help  him  in  his  business.* 

"  'He's  not  a  captain  now,  I  suppose?*  I  asked  her, 
to  see  how  much  she  knew.  She  was  unconcerned. 
*No,  he  retired  from  the  sea  when  I  was  a  little  girl. 
We  came  home  from  the  States.  We  lived  near 
Saxhambury  then.  Do  you  know  it?  Father  was 
very  imfortunate.  He  lost  on  some  of  his  invest- 
ments and  had  to  go  abroad  again.  He  was  in 
Egypt  a  long  while.' 

'"And  you  haven't  seen  him  since  when?'  I 
hazarded. 

"  'Oh,  I  met  him  when  he  came  to  Paris  on  business. 
You  see,  the  company  he's  in  now  is  French,  and  he  is 
in  a  very  important  position  out  there.' 

"It  was  clear  she  knew  nothing.  She  had  been 
brought  up  upon  the  customary  vague  references  to 
'position,'  and  so  on,  with  which  young  people  in  the 
middle  classes  are  inducted  into  the  real  world.  One 
could  imagine  her  telling  her  school-chums  how  her 
father  had  'an  important  position  out  there,*  and 
their  subsequent  awe  and  envy.  I  can  remember  a 
boy  at  school  saying  his  dad  was  'on  the  Continent,' 
when  his  fond  parent  had  gone  for  a  week-end  at 
Boulogne.    We  were  impressed.    And  I  wondered 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       49 

what  old  Macedoine's  job  might  happen  to  be.  So 
I  said  that  I  had  once  been  shipmates  with  a  Captain 
Macedoine  out  in  New  Orleans.  She  exclaimed: 
*Were  you  really!  How  funny!'  and  suddenly 
dropped  her  voice  to  a  whisper.  *Were  you  friends, 
as  you  are  with  Captain  Evans. 5^'  I  said  no,  not 
exactly,  and  looked  up  at  the  figure  of  young  Siddons 
on  the  bridge.  He  was  looking  at  us,  and  paused  in  his 
walk  to  and  fro  trying  to  make  out  who  I  might  be. 
I  was  thinking  of  him  and  wondering,  when  I  heard 
her  say  that  her  father  did  not  like  America;  he  was 
never  happy  there.  He  was  misunderstood.  Well, 
many  a  man  has  been  unhappy  and  misunderstood  in 
America.  Some  men  are  so  exacting  in  their  ideals 
that  no  country  can  hope  to  win  their  approbation. 
Captain  Macedoine  was  evidently  still  on  a  pilgrim- 
age seeking  a  home  for  his  wounded  spirit.  I  asked 
his  daughter  if  he  were  happy  and  understood  in 
Ipsilon.  She  regarded  me  with  attention  for  a 
moment,  as  though  she  suspected  me  of  irony.  Then 
she  said,  in  the  grave  tones  that  middle-class  people 
reserve  for  the  vital  themes  of  life,  that  he  had  a  good 
position  and  excellent  prospects.  And  then  she  left 
me  with  a  murmur  about  *the  kid'  and  I  began  to 
walk  to  and  fro.  I  was  amused.  I  tried  to  figure  out 
the  salient  features  of  a  'position'  which  would  meet 
with  the  approval  of  a  man  with  Macedoine's  record. 


50       CAPTAIN  ]VL\CEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

And  the  prospects!  For  mind  you,  he  must  have 
exf>erienced  a  severe  blow  when  those  Federal  secret 
service  men  had  ferreted  out  his  dealings  in  the 
opium  traflBc  and  his  plan  for  establishing  himself  in 
England  had  gone  to  smash.  And  in  what  way  could 
this  young  person  assist  him  in  his  business?  I  was 
intrigued,  as  they  say,  but  I  could  form  no  theory 
which  would  adequately  account  for  so  many  dis- 
parate premises.  After  all,  such  musings  are  their 
own  reward.  The  event  robs  them  of  their  early 
glamour.  I  did  not  even  confide  in  any  one  else  on 
the  ship.  There  is  a  pleasure  in  an  unshared  scandal 
which  many  men  and  all  women  seem  to  overlook. 
It  added,  I  may  say,  to  the  joys  of  being  a  super  in  the 
play.  And  when  Mr.  Basil  Bloom,  our  effulgent 
chief  mate,  informed  me  one  evening  that  I  seemed 
to  be  very  chummy  with  Miss  Macedoine,  I  only 
smiled  and  asked  him  if  he  had  designs  on  her  him- 
self. He  twisted  his  moustache,  looked  scornfully  at 
the  horizon,  and  was  evidently  perturbed.  He  had 
referred  grandiloquently,  during  the  previous  voy- 
ages, to  a  peerless  female  whom  he  called  'the  future 
Mrs.  Bloom.'  This  lady  lived  at  Greenwich,  and 
we  had  reason  to  believe  that  Mr.  Bloom,  on  the 
strength  of  his  genteel  manners,  formidable  mous- 
tache, and  optimistic  temperament,  had  been  sponging 
on  her  family  for  some  months  before  he  joined  the 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       51 

Manola.  *I'll  tell  the  young  lady,'  I  said,  'and 
perhaps  you'll  get  some  encouragement.'  He  as- 
sured me  first  that  I  needn't  trouble,  and  then  added 
that  he  knew  I  was  the  last  person  in  the  world  to 
think  less  of  a  man  if  he  changed  his  mind.  This 
was  so  infernally  unfair  to  the  lady  at  Greenwich 
that  I  laughed  in  his  face  and  walked  away. 

"  The  Second  Mate  took  a  different  line.  He  was  a 
quiet,  inoffensive  creature,  and  usually  preoccupied 
with  a  feeble  struggle  which  he  maintained  against 
whiskey.  He  had  a  delicately  coloured,  spiritual, 
refined  face,  with  the  salient  points  slightly 
sharpened,  and  he  seemed  to  have  neither  thoughts, 
hopes,  nor  aspirations.  However,  his  finely  chiselled 
features  appeared  one  day  while  we  were  in  Alex- 
andria with  the  addition  of  a  greenish-yellow  puff 
below  the  left  eye,  and  the  mess-room  boy  informed 
us  that  the  Second  Mate  was  having  his  meals  in  his 
room  in  future.  There  was  a  laugh  from  the  Third 
Engineer,  and  I  said  nothing,  for  I  had  a  notion  he 
and  the  Second  Mate  had  been  ashore  together. 
But  the  mess-room  boy,  whose  slant  eyes  and  long 
nose  worried  into  all  the  scandal  of  the  ship,  added 
that  young  Mr.  Siddons  had  blacked  the  Second 
Mate's  eye  for  him,  over  the  nurse.  I  told  him  to 
dry  up.  To  tell  the  truth  I  was  getting  tired  of  the 
episode.     I    felt    the    whole    thing    was    becoming 


52       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

tawdry  and  dropping  to  a  rather  low  plane.  I 
wasn't  willing  to  admit  this  to  myself,  mind  you,  be- 
cause it  involved  my  old  friend  Jack.  I  mean  it 
would  be  the  Commander's  fault  if  we  all  slumped 
into  the  mire  together  over  this  young  woman. 
That's  what  commanders  are  for — to  raise  the  tone. 
That's  what  a  good  many  of  them  lack  the  character 
to  do.  Personal  courage,  professional  skill,  long 
■exi)erience,  will  carry  a  man  through  among  men. 
When  there  are  women  in  the  case,  a  man  needs 
something  else.  What?  Well,  it  may  sound  strange 
to  you,  but  I  should  call  it  simplicity  of  heart.  It  is 
almost  the  only  thing  women  instinctively  respect 
and  fear.  Good  old  Jack  was  simple  in  his  way,  but  I 
doubted  his  ability  to  handle  a  crisis.  I  was  thankful 
when  we  were  through  with  Alexandria  and  were 
heading  north  for  Ipsilon. 

"For  just  as  we  were  entering  this  sea  cluttered 
with  islands  so  thick  you  can  always  see  four  or  five 
and  sometimes  a  dozen  at  once,  so  we  were  in  the 
midst  of  a  score  of  dubious  possibilities.  Here 
was  Jack  avoiding  me  in  an  apologetic  fashion. 
Here  was  the  Chief  Mate  whispering  to  Mrs.  Evans. 
Here  was  the  Second  Mate  sitting  in  remote  and 
solitary  grandeur  in  his  little  cubby-hole,  comforting 
himself  with  a  bottle  of  Turkish  gin.  Here  was  young 
Siddons,  very  youthful-looking  and  shy,  miserable 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       53 

because  the  Captain  was  looking  black  about  some- 
thing. Only  the  angel  child  and  her  mother  seemed 
untouched  by  the  horrible  paralysis  which  was 
creeping  upon  us  and  for  which  they  were  primarily 
responsible.  At  all  hours  you  could  hear  the  roars  of 
rage  from  the  cabin  when  it  wanted  something — the 
roar,  the  squeals,  the  kicks,  the  hiccoughs,  and  the 
final  sullen  silence  of  satiety.  I  tell  you,  that  woman 
and  her  baby  were  driving  us  all,  including  her 
husband,  crazy,  and  she  sat  there  oblivious.  She 
wasn't  even  aware  that  Artemisia  hated  her. 

"  I  don't  know  exactly  what  Jack  had  expected  me 
to  do  to  help  him.  No  doubt  if  I  had  proposed  to 
Artemisia  during  the  voyage,  married  her  in  Alex- 
andria, and  left  her  ashore  in  a  flat  out  at  Mex  or 
Gabbari  he  would  have  been  satisfied.  I  should  have 
got  him  out  of  a  hole  and  got  myself  into  one,  which 
appeals  to  most  of  us.  Or  I  might  have  acted  like  a 
man  without  any  emotions  at  all,  and  repelled 
Artemisia's  confidences  with  chilling  disdain.  This 
would  have  set  a  good  example  to  the  others,  he  may 
have  thought.  I  have  never  gone  in  for  setting  a 
good  example,  however.  I  have  found  that  even 
those  who  follow  the  example  hate  the  man  who  sets 
it.  And  in  addition,  with  the  curious  intuition  of  the 
illiterate.  Jack  suspected  I  had  not  been  perfectly 
frank  with  him  as  to  my  intimacy  with  her.     And  so 


54       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

we  were  all  on  the  watch,  alert,  uneasy,  silent,  and 
unhappy. 

"I  still  went  in  to  see  Mrs.  Evans  of  an  evening. 
To  tell  the  truth  she  fascinated  me.  I  had  always 
held  the  theory  that  no  married  woman  could  be  an 
absolute  fool.  It  had  seemed  to  me  that  such  contact 
with  the  realities  of  life  as  marriage  involved  must 
leave  some  austere  mark  of  intelligence,  some  tinge  of 
altruism,  upon  the  most  superficial.  She  seemed  to 
disprove  this.  For  her  the  world  did  not  exist  save 
for  the  'angel  child.'  Even  her  husband  was  now 
only  the  nearly  indispensable  producer  of  income. 
She  talked,  not  of  him,  or  of  her  family,  not  of  Art  or 
Life  or  Death  or  the  world  to  come,  not  even  of 
Home  or  the  things  she  had  seen  in  Alexandria. 
She  had  seen  nothing  in  Alexandria.  She  had 
declined  to  let  Jack  take  her  to  Cairo  '  because  of  the 
expense.'  She  read  no  books  nor  papers.  She 
dressed  in  perfect  propriety.  And  all  the  time  she 
talked  about  the  child,  one  hand  near  the  child,  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  child's  movements  or  repose.  I 
think  the  voyage  was  a  revelation  to  Jack.  He  was 
finding  his  place  in  the  world.  He  was  thinking  in  his 
honest,  clumsy  way.  He  never  took  his  wife  for  a  trip 
again.  He  loved  his  child  as  much  as  any  man  could, 
but  this  ingrowing  infatuation,  to  the  exclusion  of 
every  other  desirable  thing  in  the  world,  was  fatiguing. 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       55 

"And  Artemisia!  She  sat  in  her  little  spare  cabin 
opening  on  the  saloon,  and  now  and  again  she  would 
raise  her  shoulders,  draw  a  deep  breath,  let  them  drop 
again  as  though  in  despair,  and  go  on  with  her  sewing. 
She  would  laugh  at  me  when  I  tried  to  amuse  the 
child  and  distract  it  from  some  preposterous  desire. 
It  was  not  easy.  Her  tenacity  of  purpose  was  appall- 
ing. She  was  yelling  one  evening  for  someone  to 
open  the  great  medicine  chest  that  stood  by  the 
brass  fireplace.  I  tried  the  time-honoured  ruses  for 
placating  the  young.  I  said  there  was  a  lion  inside 
who  would  jump  out  and  eat  Babs.  I  pretended  to 
go  and  find  the  key  and  came  back  with  the  news  that 
naughty  Mr.  Siddons  had  dropped  it  into  the  sea. 
The  brat  stopped  to  breathe  for  a  moment  and  a 
faintly  human  expression  came  over  the  stupen- 
dously smug  little  face.  I  followed  this  up  by  a  story 
of  how  Mr.  Siddons  had  shown  me  how  to  make  a  pin 
float  on  the  water.  I  hastily  poured  some  water  into 
a  glass,  got  a  piece  of  blotting  paper,  laid  my  pin  on 
it,  and  waited  for  the  homely  trick  to  succeed.  I 
had  no  luck  somehow.  The  pin  went  to  the  bottom 
and  Babs'  opinion  of  me  went  with  it.  She  suddenly 
remembered  about  the  medicine  chest  and  gave  a 
preliminary  yell.  Mrs.  Evans  said,  'Oh,  Babbsy, 
darling!'  I  got  up  and  went  out  on  deck.  We 
were  running  among  the  islands.     Away  to  the  east- 


56       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

ward  I  could  see  the  lights  of  the  Roumania  Lloyd 
mail-boat  going  south.  Suddenly  two  hands  grabbed 
the  lappets  of  my  patrol-coat,  a  dark,  fluffy  head 
leaned  for  a  delicious  moment  against  my  chest,  and 
Artemisia  gurgled,  'Oh,  Mister  Chief,  isn't  she  just 
a  little  fiend?'  She  had  been  listening  to  my  blan- 
dishments and  had  witnessed  the  final  destruction  of 
my  hopes.  She  put  her  hands  behind  her  back, 
threw  up  her  head,  and  regarded  me  with  amusement. 
*Why,'  she  whispered,  'why  didn't  you  open  the 
medicine  chest,  and  give  her  the  prussic-add  to  play 
with? '  And  then,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  she 
turned  and  looked  across  at  the  islands  we  were 
passing.  She  sighed.  'Just  look  at  them!  How 
do  they  know  which  is  Ipsilon?  Mister  Chief, 
Mister  Chief,  I  am  afraid.' 

"'What  of?'     I  asked.     She  sighed  again. 

"'Of  the  future,'  she  said.  'This  is  a  change  for 
me.  I  don't  know  what's  coming.  I  haven't  had 
any  luck  yet.' 

"I  asked  her  in  what  way. 

"'You  know.  Mister  Chief,  I  have  been  in  several 
situations.  I  was  a  typist.  .  .  .'  she  shrugged 
her  shoulders. 

"'Your  father  will  be  here,'  I  suggested,  but  she 
paid  no  attention,  merely  looking  at  the  dark  blots  on 
the  sea  that  were  islands.     And  then  she  remarked  in 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       57 

a  p)erfectly  level  and  unconcerned  voice  that  some- 
times she  wished  she  was  dead.  I  patted  her  on  the 
shoulder. 

"*Go  to  bed,  my  child/ 1  remarked,  coldly,  *  you'll 
feel  better  in  the  morning.  You  won't  wish  you 
were  dead  when  Captain  Macedoine  comes  aboard 
to  fetch  you.' 

"She  walked  away  in  silence  and  went  down  to  the 
cabin.  I  have  often  wondered  if  she  had  not  in- 
tended to  make  some  sort  of  confession.  Perhaps  it 
was  a  moment  in  her  life  when  she  became  suddenly 
aware  of  her  insecurity,  of  her  lack  of  the  kindly 
props  and  supjxjrts  which  hold  most  of  us  up  and  give 
us  a  good  opinion  of  ourselves.  For  really  she  lacked 
everything.  As  I  found  out  later,  as  she  stood  talk- 
ing to  me  that  evening  and  trying  to  find  some  easy 
yet  adequate  method  of  taking  me  into  her  con- 
fidence without  losing  my  esteem,  she  lacked  every- 
thing that  most  girls  have.  She  was  one  of  those 
tragic  figures  who  even  lack  innocence  without  hav- 
ing gained  any  corresponding  experience.  And  per- 
haps she  felt  for  a  moment  the  shadow  of  her 
destiny  upon  her,  and  seeing  the  dark  path  among  the 
islands  she  was  to  tread,  shrank  back,  doubtful  even 
of  the  power  of  her  father  to  carry  her  through." 


CHAPTER  III 

MR.  SPENLOVE,  sitting  forward  in  his  deck 
chair,  felt  in  his  pocket  for  his  cigarette- 
case  and  looked  round  satirically  into  the 
profound  shadow  of  the  awning.  He  still 
preserved  the  appearance  of  a  man  talking  to  him- 
self, but  the  fancy  crossed  his  mind,  as  he  glanced  at 
the  long  horizontal  forms  in  the  deck  chairs,  that 
he  was  addressing  a  company  of  laid-out  corpses. 
The  air  was  very  still,  but  a  light  breeze  on  the  open 
water  beyond  the  nets,  and  the  full  splendour  of  a 
circular  moon,  reminded  him  of  an  immense  sheet  of 
hammered  silver.  But  Mr.  Spenlove  did  not  look 
long  at  the  -^gean.  He  swivelled  round  a  little  and 
I)ointed  with  the  burnt-out  match  at  the  large  plain 
building  he  had  indicated  at  the  beginning  of  his 
story.  It  was  not  a  beautiful  building.  It  had  the 
rectangular  austerity  of  a  continental  customs  house 
or  English  provincial  "Athenaeum."  It  was  built 
close  to  the  cliff  and  the  outer  wall  was  provided  with 
a  flight  of  stairs  which  ascended,  in  a  mysterious  and 
disconcerting    manner,    to    the    second    floor.     All 

58 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       59 

this  was  clearly  visible  in  the  brilliant  moonlight, 
and  even  the  long  valley  behind,  with  its  dim 
vineyards  and  clumps  of  almond,  olive,  and  fig 
trees  half  concealing  the  square  white  houses 
that  dotted  the  perspective,  were  subtly  indicated 
against  the  enormous  background  of  the  tunnelled 
uplands  and  bare  limestone  peaks.  Mr.  Spenlove 
held  the  match  out  for  a  moment  and  then  flicked 
it  away. 

"Romantic,  isn't  it?  This  was  how  it  looked  the 
night  we  anchored,  and  Artemisia  came  up  to  me  as  I 
stood  by  the  engine-room  skylights  with  my  bi- 
noculars. It  was  she  who  pointed  out  to  me  how 
romantic  it  was.  I  asked  her  why.  I  said:  'This 
place  is  simply  an  iron  mine.  To-morrow  they'll  put 
us  under  those  tips  you  see  sticking  out  of  the  cliff 
there  and  a  lot  of  frowsy  Greeks  will  run  little 
wooden  trucks  full  of  red  dust  and  boulders  and 
empty  them  with  a  crash  into  the  ship.  And  there'll 
be  red  dust  in  the  tea  and  the  soup  and  in  your  hair 
and  eyes  and  nose  and  mouth.  And  there'll  be 
nothing  but  trouble  all  the  time.  Very  romantic!' 
So  I  sneered,  but  she  wasn't  taken  in  by  it  a  bit.  She 
looked  through  the  glasses,  and  laughed.  'Oh,  it's 
beautiful!'  she  murmured,  'beautiful,  beautiful.' 

"I  said,  'How  do  beautiful  things  make  you  feel.'^' 
and  she  turned  on  me  for  a  moment.     'You  know,' 


60       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

she  said,  and  was  silent.  And  I  did  know.  It  was 
the  bond  between  us.  We  had  become  aware  of  it 
unconsciously.  It  had  nothing  to  do  with  our  age  or 
our  sex  or  our  position  in  life.  It  was  the  common 
ground  of  our  intense  anger  with  the  other  people  on 
the  ship.  Do  you  know,  I  have  often  thought  that 
Circe  has  been  misjudged.  Men  become  swinish 
before  women  who  are  unconscious  of  their  unlovely 
transformation.  Circe  should  be  painted  with  her 
eyes  fixed  in  severe  meditation,  oblivious  of  the  gnmt- 
ing,  squeaking  beasts  around  her.  Artemisia  was 
like  that.  She  really  cared  nothing  for  the  ridiculous 
performances  of  the  various  animals  on  the  ship. 
Nothing  for  the  magniloquent  Mr.  Basil  Bloom, 
clearing  his  throat  behind  his  dirty  hand;  nothing  for 
the  Second  Mate,  with  his  perpetual  expression  of 
knowing  something  about  her  and  being  mightily 
amused  by  it.  Nothing  even  for  poor  young  Siddons, 
badly  hit,  moping  out  of  sight,  heaving  prodigious 
sighs  and  getting  wiggings  for  being  absent- 
minded.  As  for  the  Second  and  Third,  my  par- 
ticular henchmen,  she  didn't  know  they  existed. 
Honourable!  Why  of  course,  they  were  all  honour- 
able in  their  intentions.  Didn't  Mr.  Bloom  express 
his  willingness  to  throw  over  the  young  lady  at 
Greenwich,  although  he  owed  her  father  fifty  pounds.'* 
Didn't  the  Second  Engineer  drop  a  note  down  her 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       61 

ventilator  saying  he  had  a  hundred  in  the  Savings 
Bank  and  she  had  only  to  say  the  word?  (And 
didn't  Mrs.  Evans  pick  it  up  and  take  it,  speechless 
with  annoyance,  to  Jack,  who  roared  with  laughter?) 
Honourable?  Of  course  they  all  wanted  to  marry 
her.     Swine  are  domestic  animals." 

The  Surgeon,  who  had  caused  this  digression,  made 
a  vague  murmur  of  protest.  Mr.  Spenlove  drummed 
on  the  chair  between  his  legs  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  but  he  didn't  turn  round. 

"I  didn't  offer  to  tell  you  a  love-story.  Captain 
Macedoine's  daughter,  if  she  means  anything,  means 
just  this:  that  love  means  nothing.  She  passed 
through  all  the  dirty  little  gum-shoe  emotions  which 
she  inspired  on  the  Manola  like  a  moonbeam  through 
a  foul  alley.  For  it  is  foul,  this  eternal  preoccupation 
with  sex,  like  a  lot  of  flies  over  a  stagnant,  fecundat- 
ing pool.  Beauty !  You  all  talk  largely  of  appreciat- 
ing beauty,  and  you  don't  know,  the  most  educated 
and  cultured  of  you,  the  first  thing  about  it.  Your 
idea  of  beauty  is  a  healthy  young  female  without  too 
many  clothes.  I  tell  you,  I  have  seen  ships  so  per- 
fect and  just  in  modelling  that  I  have  marvelled  at 
the  handiwork  of  my  fellowmen.  I  have  seen  cities 
at  sunrise  so  beautiful  I  have  gone  down  to  my  room 
and  shed  tears  of  ridiculous  sorrow.  And  I  have 
seen  the  patrons  of  female  beauty,  too,  coming  back 


62       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

from  the  cities  to  the  ships  with  dry  palates,  and 
their  neckties  under  their  ears.     .     .     . 

"Well!  We  stood  there,  and  to  ease  the  pres- 
sure of  the  moment  she  put  up  the  binoculars  and 
swept  the  little  beach,  finally  coming  to  rest  at  the 
big  house — Griinbaum's  house.  While  we  had  been 
talking  a  light  had  come  out  on  the  balcony,  and 
figures  began  to  move  about  with  the  precise  and 
enigmatic  motions  of  marionettes.  Without  glasses 
I  could  see  Griinbaum  seated  at  a  table  with  a  big 
lamp  over  his  head.  Another  figure  moved  to  the 
open  side  and  stood  still.  I  was  wondering  what  this 
portended  when  Griinbaum  half  rose  and  waved  his 
arms,  and  the  other  figure  turned  and  dwindled 
rapidly  into  obscurity,  suddenly  coming  into  the 
light  again  at  the  other  side  of  the  table.  And 
Artemisia  said  quietly,  *  There's  father!'  and  handed 
me  the  binoculars. 

"To  say  that  I  was  interested  would  not  put  the 
matter  in  its  true  light.  I  was  more  than  that. 
There  was  a  fantastic  quality  in  the  whole  business 
which  was  almost  supernatural.  It  is  strange  enough 
to  meet  a  person  after  many  years;  stranger  still  to 
meet  one  who  has  made  a  powerful  yet  unsympa- 
thetic impression  upon  you — to  meet  him  with  all 
your  old  dislikes  and  prejudices  washed  to  a  clear  and 
colourless  curiosity.    But  to  see  such  a  man  as  I  saw 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       68 

Captain  Macedoine,  afar  off,  through  an  atmosphere 
charged  with  the  electric  blue  radiance  of  moonlight, 
moving  in  an  alien  orbit,  animated  by  unknown 
emotions — why,  it  was  like  seeing  a  man  who  was 
dead  and  gone  to  another  world !  I  raised  the  glasses 
and  focussed  them.  Captain  Macedoine  stood  lean- 
ing heavily  on  his  hands  as  they  grasped  the  edge  of 
the  table,  and  he  was  staring  straight  out  at  me.  Of 
course  he  could  see  nothing  beyond  the  balcony,  but 
the  impression  was  exactly  that  of  a  man  striving  to 
win  back  across  the  gulf  to  his  former  existence. 
And  his  strained  immobility  was  accentuated  by  the 
figure  of  Griinbaum  with  his  jerkily  moving  arms, 
his  polished  forehead  gleaming  in  the  lamplight,  the 
gyrations  of  his  chin  as  he  turned  every  moment  or 
so  and  looked  up  sideways  at  the  other.  Griinbaum 
flourished  papers,  reaching  out  and  rearranging 
them,  throwing  himself  back  in  his  chair  and  beating 
the  table  with  a  folded  document  to  emphasize  his 
words.  And  every  now  and  again  the  whole  scene 
grew  dim  as  though  it  were  a  phantasmagoria,  and 
about  to  dissolve,  when  the  smoke  from  Griinbaum's 
cigar  floated  and  hung  in  the  still  air. 

"And  I  discovered,  too,  that  I  had  no  words  in 
which  to  formulate  the  peculiar  impressions  this 
scene  made  upon  me.  I  could  find  no  adequate  re- 
mark!    The  girl  at  my  side,  reaching  out  absently 


64       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

for  the  glasses,  made  no  sign  that  this  scene  going  on 
half  a  mile  away  was  at  all  strange  to  her.  For  all 
one  could  gather,  Captain  Macedoine's  daughter  was 
accustomed  to  see  her  father  submitting  passively  to 
the  onslaughts  of  foreign  concessionaires  every  day  in 
the  week.  I  gazed  at  her  as  she  stood  there  by  the 
awning-stanchion  looking  at  her  magnificent  parent, 
and  it  was  suddenly  borne  in  upon  me  that  it  is  a 
miracle  we  ever  learn  anything  about  each  other  at 
all  in  this  world.  There  is  nothing  so  inscrutable  as 
an  ordinary  human  being,  I  am  convinced,  and  I 
have  been  watching  them  for  thirty  years.  What  we 
know  and  can  tell,  even  the  acutest  of  us,  is  no  more 
than  the  postmark  on  a  letter.  What's  inside — ah, 
if  we  only  knew.  What?  Absurd?  By  no  means. 
I  believe  married  people  do  occasionally  accomplish 
it  in  a  small  way.  I  mean  I  believe  they  attain  to  a 
fairly  complete  comprehension  of  each  other's  souls. 
But  as  to  whether  the  game  is  worth  the  candle  they 
never  divulge.     .     .     . 

"Certainly  Artemisia  did  not  at  that  moment. 
She  left  me,  as  every  woman  I  have  ever  met  has 
left  me,  groping.  She  sighed  softly  and  returned 
the  glasses,  remarking  again,  'Yes,  there's  Father,' 
and  bade  me  good-night  without  a  word  of  explana- 
tion. Mind,  I  don't  say  I  had  any  right  to  such  a 
word.     I  don't  even  feel  sure  she  understood  any- 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       65 

thing  at  all  about  her  father's  position  on  that  island. 
The  bare  fact  remains  that  I  expected  some  explana- 
tion simply  because  I  credited  her  with  a  character 
light  yet  strong,  and  capable  of  supporting  the  weight 
of  her  father's  confidence. 

"For  observe;  if  this  girl  was  ignorant  of  every- 
thing, if  she  came  out  here  a  mere  child  agape  with 
curiosity,  then  Macedoine  must  have  been  that 
extremely  rare  phenomenon,  a  completely  lonely 
man.  And  I  was  not  prepared  to  admit  the  possibility 
of  such  an  existence  for  him.  He  was  one  of  those 
men  who  can  live,  no  doubt,  without  friendship,  but 
who  must  have  their  audience.  So  much  at  least  I 
knew  of  him  in  the  old  days  in  the  Maracaibo  Line, 
when  he  would  sit  near  us  in  Fabacher's  on  Royal 
Street,  ostentatiously  reading  a  month-old  copy  of 
the  London  Financial  News.  It  was  this  incessant 
urge  to  inspire  wonder  which  led  him  to  hint,  in- 
directly, that  he  had  been  at  school  at  the  Charter- 
house. Risky.''  Of  course  it  was  risky;  and  I  should 
never  have  plumbed  the  mystery  but  for  a  most 
unimpressionable  London  purser  who  informed  me 
there  was  a  ragged  school  for  slum  children  in  the 
Charterhouse  district  in  the  city.  Not  that  it 
mattered.  We  were  not  Macedoine's  game.  It  was 
the  bishops  and  colonels  and  eminent  surgeons  who 
made  the  round  trip  of  the  West  Indies  with  us 


66       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

whom  he  wished  to  impress.  Whether  he  was  a 
fraud  or  not,  he  certainly  had  acquired  a  way  of 
ignoring  common  people  such  as  we  who  go  to  sea.  I 
knew  he  would  regard  good  old  Jack  from  such  a 
lofty  pinnacle  that  Jack  would  appear  to  him  no 
more  than  one  of  the  Greek  labourers  who  shoved  the 
little  wooden  cars  along  and  tumbled  their  contents 
into  the  ship  with  a  terrific  clang  of  ironstone  on 
iron,  and  clouds  of  red  dust.  I  followed  up  this 
digression  in  my  mind  and  arrived  at  the  fascinating 
conclusion  that  if  my  recollection  served  me  suffi- 
ciently well,  he  would  not  recognize  me.  He  never 
had  recognized  me.  I  once  had  the  pleasure  of  tell- 
ing him  that  if  his  men  didn't  keep  my  room  clean 
and  tidy  I  would  knock  his  head  off.  He  never 
looked  up  from  his  desk  until  my  grip  on  his  collar 
tightened  and  his  body  began  to  rock  to  and  fro. 
He  complained  to  the  Commander,  who  had  been  told 
of  the  incident  by  the  Chief.  *Is  this  the  engineer 
who  assaulted  you,  Mr.  Macedoine.'^'  says  the 
Captain.  Macedoine  examined  me  with  a  distant, 
preoccupied  air,  pressing  his  lips  together  and  his 
eyebrows  raised.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  opened 
his  lips  with  a  slight  smacking  noise,  and  after  quite  a 
pause,  a  most  imposing  pause,  he  said  he  'really 
couldn't  say;  these  workmen  were  all  so  much  alike 
when  they  were  dirty.     .     .     .'     Old  Pomeroy — he 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       67 

was  the  first  decent  skipper  the  Maracaibo  Line  ever 
had — swung  round  on  his  chief  steward  and  retorted: 
*Then  what  the  devil  are  you  wasting  all  our  time 
for?'  He  swung  back  to  his  desk  again,  muttering 
and  slapping  papers  here  and  there.  'Preposterous 
— doesn't  know  who  assaulted  him.  .  .  .  Never 
heard.  .  .  .*  I  was  standing  as  stiff  as  a 
stanchion  waiting  for  the  Old  Man  to  say  I  could  go, 
when  he  saw  Macedoine  pussy -footing  it  to  the  door. 
*0h,  and  Macedoine,'  called  the  Old  Man.  Mace- 
doine stopped  but  did  not  look  round  *I  expect  the 
engineers  on  my  ship  to  be  referred  to  as  engineers, 
not  "workmen."'  Silence,  Macedoine  looking  at 
the  back  of  his  hand  and  smiling  with  the  comer  of 
his  mouth  pulled  down.  *  Understand!  '  thundered 
the  Old  Man,  rising  from  his  chair  but  holding  it  by 
the  arms.  It  was  so  sudden  I  nearly  collapsed.  I 
thought  he  was  going  to  throw  Macedoine  through 
the  door.  That  lofty  personage  was  startled,  too. 
He  replied  hastily:  *0h,  quite  so.  Captain,  er.  .  .  .' 
when  old  Pomeroy  sat  down  and  dipping  his  pen  in 
the  ink,  shut  him  up  with  *  Then  don't  forget  it,  and 
don't  wait.' 

"I  mention  this  highly  unusual  episode  for  a 
special  reason.  It  happened  to  provide  one  specific 
proof  of  my  theory  that  Macedoine  was  an  artist  in 
his  method  of  building  up  that  grotesque  eflBgy  which 


68       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

he  presented  to  the  world  as  himself.  He  was  like 
that  eccentric  rich  person  who  once  built  a  most 
astonishing  house  in  Chelsea  many  years  ago.  You 
remember.^  It  was  called  So-and-So's  Folly.  It 
stood  on  a  valuable  site,  and  each  story  was  decorated 
in  a  different  style.  The  basement  was  Phoenician 
and  the  roof  was  pure  Berlin.  But  the  horrible  thing 
about  that  house  was,  not  its  bizarre  commingling  of 
periods,  its  terracotta  tigers  and  cast-iron  chry- 
santhemums, but  the  fact  that  inside  it  was  a  hollow, 
spider-haunted  shell.  There  was  not  even  a  back  to 
it.  There  were  no  floors  laid  on  the  joists,  weathered 
planks  blocked  up  the  back,  and  a  few  forlorn  green 
statues  stood  amid  a  dank  jungle  of  creepers  and 
grass  and  rubbish.  Now  that  was  how  Macedoine 
impressed  me,  and  what  I  was  going  to  say  was  that 
by  accident  I  obtained  later  a  peep  into  his  studio,  so 
to  speak,  and  saw  his  method  of  putting  up  that 
marvellous  front,  behind  which,  as  you  have  already 
learned,  there  was  nothing  save  the  dreamy  dirtiness 
of  avarice  and  ego-mania.  No,  the  solitary  and 
grandiose  idea  in  his  mind  precluded  all  recollection 
of  individual  humanity.  It  was  not  that  he  forgot 
us  who  had  been  his  shipmates.  He  had  never 
known  us.  We  had  not  the  wit  to  be  knaves,  or  the 
credulity  to  accept  him  at  his  own  colossal  valuation. 
We  ignored  his  enigmatic  claim  to  greatness,  while 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       69 

he  passed  sublimely  along,  disdainful  of  our  obvious 
virtues.  For  it  is  presumable  that  we  had  virtues, 
since  the  world — anxious  for  the  replenishing  of  its 
larders — hails  us  nowadays  as  heroes  because  we 
prefer  the  dangers  of  sea-life  to  the  tedious  boredom 
of  a  shore-going  existence.     .     .     . 

"Yes,  I  saw  into  his  studio,  watched  the  artist  at 
work  at  first  hand.  I  might  claim  the  honour,  in- 
deed, of  being  one  of  the  lumps  of  clay  upon  which  he 
sought  to  model  his  design.  Surely  an  authentic 
witness  this;  and  I  dare  say  the  normal  artist's 
material — since  we  are  fond  of  saying  he  blows  the 
breath  of  life  into  it — might  not  join  in  the  universal 
praise  bestowed  upon  its  creator,  but  might  indulge 
in  ironic  contemplation  of  its  own  birth-pangs  and  the 
strange  fortunes  of  its  pre-natal  existence! 

"He  did  not  appear,  however,  as  my  stimulated 
imagination  had  pictured  him  appearing,  to  dominate 
the  situation  on  the  Manola  and  preoccupy  us  all 
with  his  personality  and  hypothetical  power.  Like  a 
higher  power,  he  remained  invisible,  and  Captain 
Evans,  going  ashore  in  a  boat  with  Artemisia  and  her 
belongings  around  him,  was  the  first  to  encounter 
him  in  Griinbaum's  office.  Encountered  him,  and 
came  back  bursting  with  the  most  astonishing  tid- 
ings. I  was  sitting  in  my  room  that  evening  after  tea, 
having  a  quiet  pipe  and  a  book,  when  Jack  came  down. 


70       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

***Come  along  to  my  room,  Fred,'  he  said,  blowing 
clouds  from  his  cigar.     'I  want  to  talk  to  you.' 

"*Why  not  here.'^'  I  suggested. 

"*No,  I  want  the  wife  to  hear  it,  too.  The  gel's 
gone  and  the  kid's  asleep.     Come  along.' 

"And  highly  mystified,  I  went  along.  It  seemed 
like  scandal,  and  I  am  not  above  such  things  once  in  a 
way,  as  you  know.  I  went  along,  and  found  Mrs. 
Evans  in  her  husband's  cabin  sewing.  Nothing 
would  do  but  I  must  have  a  cigar,  and  the  angel 
child  having  been  dosed  with  what  her  mother  called 
*chempeen',  I  had  to  have  a  glass  of  that,  too.  Jack 
was  flushed  and  excited,  and  sat  down  beside  me  on 
the  red  plush  settee. 

"*What  do  you  say,'  he  began,  in  a  low,  husky 
tone,  *to  a  job  ashore,  Fred.''' 

"So  that  was  it.  The  age-old  chimera  of  a  *job 
ashore.'  I  looked  at  Mrs.  Evans.  Her  lips  were 
shut  to  a  thin  line.  I  could  see  protest  and  dissent  in 
every  line  of  her  body. 

"'For  you  or  for  me.'''  I  enquired,  softly. 

"*For  me,  and  p'raps  for  you,  too,  if  you  play  your 
cards.  It's  like  this' :  and  he  began  a  long  and  com- 
plicated explanation.  The  gel's  father,  as  he  called 
Macedoine,  had  got  the  job  of  secretary  to  the  com- 
pany and  somehow  didn't  hit  it  off  with  old  Grtin- 
baum,  who  was  resident  concessionaire.     Of  course  I 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       71 

knew  Griinbaum's  father,  who  had  been  the  original 
prospector  when  the  island  was  Turkish,  sold  most  of 
his  holdings  to  the  French  company,  but  kept  a 
tenth  which  descended  to  his  son  who  had  succeeded 
him  in  the  concession.  Well,  Griinbaum  wouldn't 
hear  of  a  lot  of  improvements  which  Macedoine 
wanted  to  introduce.  The  gel's  father  was  full  of 
modem  ideas.  Wanted  to  put  in  electric  traction 
for  the  mines,  with  electric  elevators  and  tips,  and  so 
on.  He  also  wanted  to  develop  the  place,  and  had  a 
plan  for  irrigation  to  attract  settlers.  Griinbaum 
wouldn't  hear  of  it.  Very  conservative  Griinbaum 
was.  Got  his  tenth  of  the  three  francs  per  ton  on 
the  ore,  and  a  thousand  a  year  as  manager,  and  was 
satisfied.  Didn't  want  settlers.  He  was  king  of  the 
island  and  he  and  Macedoine  had  had  a  row.  Mace- 
doine was  sick  of  it.  All  this  had  been  explained  to 
Jack  by  a  young  Greek,  a  clerk  in  the  office,  who  was 
sick  of  it,  too,  and  was  'going  in'  with  Macedoine  in 
his  new  venture.  And  what  was  that?  Well,  it 
was  this  way :  Macedoine,  who  had  knocked  about  a 
bit,  had  taken  an  option  on  some  sites  in  Saloniki,  he 
had  bought  a  sixty-fourth  share  in  the  Turkish 
steamboat  which  carried  the  mails  to  the  islands,  and 
he  was  going  into  the  development  of  Saloniki.  Had 
formed  a  small  preliminary  company,  registered  in 
Athens,  to  take  up  the  options,  and  he  wanted  direc- 


72       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

tors.  This  young  Greek,  Nikitos,  was  to  be  secre- 
tary, knowing  the  languages,  you  see.  He  wanted 
directors,  practical  men  to  superintend  the  actual 
business  while  he,  Macedoine,  you  understand,  would 
be  free  to  control  the  financial  side  of  the  affair.  Oh, 
it  was  a  big  thing.  There  was  to  be  a  big  hotel,  a 
big  brewery,  a  big  shipping  business,  a  big  real  estate 
development  in  Macedonia,  a  big  railroad  system,  and 
a  big  fleet  of  ships  to  carry  away  the  freight  which 
comes  from  all  this.  Everything  was  to  be  big,  big! 
Jack  blew  clouds  of  smoke,  big  clouds,  and  flourished 
his  fat  hands  in  the  air.  'What  did  I  think?  Wasn't 
it  worth  jumping  at?  Five  founder's  shares  of  a 
thousand  drachmas  each  in  the  preliminary  company, 
convertible  into  preferred  stock  in  the  big  concern 
and  ten  thousand  drachmas  a  year  salary.  Eh? 
What  did  I  think?  Wasn't  it  a  sound  investment? 
What  about  it?'  And  Jack  bored  into  my  ribs  ^ith 
his  powerful  finger. 

"I  looked  at  IVIrs.  Evans.  It  was  evident  she  had 
already  heard  something  of  this  magnificent  scheme 
for  making  us  all  millionaires,  and  her  verdict  was 
evident  enough  also.  She  never  raised  her  eyes 
from  her  sewing  where  she  sat  in  a  cane  chair,  her 
hair  smooth  and  shining,  her  dress  smooth  and  shin- 
ing, too,  the  embodiment  of  prim  respectability  and 
prudence.     She  had  often  inspired  me  with  a  crazy 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       73 

ambition  to  see  her  being  chased  by  a  lunatic  with  a 
razor  in  his  hand,  or  pursued  by  a  hungry  Bengal 
tiger — to  see  her  in  some  predicament  which  would 
crack  the  shell  of  middle-class  reserve  in  which  she 
was  secreted  and  show  me  the  live,  scampering  human 
being  within:  but  just  now  I  was  appalled  by  the 
formidable  aspect  of  her  disapproval.  Even  Jack 
was  aware  of  it,  for  he  watched  me  to  see  what  I 
would  say.  And  what  could  I  say.'*  What  could 
any  sane  human  being,  with  a  knowledge  of  the 
world,  say.f*  I  didn't  say  anything.  I  scratched  my 
chin  and  pretended  to  be  thinking  deeply. 

"For  without  claiming  any  especial  perspicuity,  I 
must  confess  that  I  have  never  been  the  raw  material 
out  of  which  'suckers'  are  manufactured.  It  has 
always  seemed  to  me  pertinent  to  enquire,  when 
Golcondas  and  Eldorados  are  offered  for  a  song,  why 
the  vendor  should  be  so  anxious  to  hypothecate  his 
priceless  privileges.  I  suppose  I  am  a  skeptic. 
Business,  after  all,  is  very  much  like  Religion:  it  is 
founded  on  Faith.  And  men  like  my  friend  Jack,  for 
instance,  have  great  faith  in  the  written  word,  much 
more  in  the  beautifully  engraved  word.  For  them  all 
the  elaborate  bunkum  by  which  the  financial  spell- 
binder conceals  his  sinister  intentions  is  of  no  avail; 
the  jargon  of  the  prospectus,  the  glittering  general- 
ties,  the  superb  optimism,  the  assumption  of  austere 


74       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

rectitude,  the  galaxy  of  distinguished  patrons  who  for 
a  consideration  lend  their  names  to  the  venture. 
For  it  is  a  venture,  and  men  have  always  a  pathetic 
hope  that  it  may  become  an  adventure  as  well,  and 
that  their  ship  will  come  labouring  home,  loaded 
with  gold. 

"Women,  especially  married  women,  are  not  at  all 
like  that,  but  they  are  not  so  much  skeptics  as  in- 
fidels. They  start  up  at  the  first  distant  approach  of 
the  financier,  every  plume  and  pin-feather  quivering. 
They  don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  They  go  down  on 
their  knees  to  their  husbands  and  beg  and  beseech 
and  supplicate  them  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
They  shed  tears  over  their  children.  They  write 
long  letters  of  distracted  eloquence  to  their  mothers. 
The  very  extremity  of  their  impotence  lends  a  certain 
tragic  dignity  to  their  tantrums.  Of  course  if  the 
cruel  domestic  tyrant  persists  in  casting  his  bread 
upon  the  waters  and  speculation  turns  out  to  be  a 
huge  success,  these  Cassandras  spend  the  dividends 
with  a  sort  of  stem  joy,  as  though  the  money  were 
tainted  and  they  must  exchange  it  for  something  use- 
less and  inconvenient  as  soon  as  possible.  They  know, 
by  instinct,  I  suppose,  that  a  chifiFonier  or  a  Chippen- 
dale bedroom  suite  is  not  legal  tender  for  stock.  They 
feel  they've  got  something.  It  is  a  truism,  I  suppose, 
to  say  that  women  are  implacable  realists. 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       75 

"Mrs.  Evans  was.  And  she  knew,  too,  that  I  was 
of  her  opinion  in  this  matter.  She  never  raised  her 
eyes  to  look  at  me;  but  she  knew.  Her  lips  never 
relaxed  from  the  rigid  line  they  had  assumed  when 
I  came  down,  as  though  she  was  still  waiting,  in 
severe  patience,  for  me  to  do  my  obvious  duty,  and 
corroborate  her  opinion. 

"'What  is  he  putting  into  it.^*'  I  asked,  casually. 

"'He's  the  vendor,'  retorted  Jack,  who  had  picked 
up  the  vernacular  pretty  quickly.  *He  turns  over 
his  options  and  his  share  in  this  mail-boat  for  ten 
founder's  shares  and  a  seat  on  the  board,  see?  Then, 
when  the  big  company's  formed,  he  takes  up  shares 
in  that,  and  is  voted  a  salary  of  twenty  thousand 
drachmas  a  year  as  financial  adviser.  That's  how 
Nikitos  put  it  to  me.  Nikitos  knows  the  country  and 
he  says  there's  any  amount  of  capital  available  once 
the  thing  gets  started.  These  tobacco  growers  don't 
know  what  to  do  with  their  money — keep  it  in  those 
big  Turkish  trousers,  most  of  it,  he  reckons.  The 
great  thing  is  to  get  in  at  the  beginning.  What  do 
you  say  .f*  He  wants  a  shipmaster  and  he  wants  a  man 
with  engineering  experience  to  overlook  the  shipping 
business.  I  told  Nikitos  I'd  talk  it  over  with  you. 
He  says  the  skipper  of  that  Swedish  ship  that's  on 
the  same  charter  as  us  is  putting  three  hundred  into 
it — seven  thousand  five  hundred  drachmas.' 


76       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

"*But  what  did  Macedoine  say?'  I  persisted. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  see  him,''  admitted  Jack,  looking  at 
the  floor  between  his  fat  knees.  *Nikitos  promised 
to  arrange  an  interview  if  we  decided  to  come  in.' 

"  There  it  was,  you  see,  the  touch  of  the  Master.  I 
could  not  help  a  silent  tribute  of  admiration  to 
Captain  Macedoine  for  this  remarkable  reserve,  this 
exquisite  demonstration  of  psychological  insight.  A 
man  of  great  affairs !  A  financial  magnate,  graciously 
extending  to  us  the  privilege  of  participating  in  his 
immense  schemes.  *An  interview  could  be  ar- 
ranged ! '  It  was  superb,  this  method  of  mesmerizing 
all  the  simple-minded  skippers  and  chiefs  who  came 
in  the  iron-ore  ships  to  Ipsilon.  I  had  a  brief  but 
vivid  vision  of  us  all  ashore  in  Salomki  squabbling 
and  bluffing  each  other,  while  Macedoine  sat  en- 
throned, apart,  the  financial  adviser,  dwelling  in 
oriental  magnificence  \rpon  our  contributions. 

"  *  What  do  you  think,  Mrs.  Evans.'''  I  asked,  taking 
the  bull  by  the  horns.  'Shall  we  gamble  a  hundred 
or  so  and  get  rich  quick.'*' 

"'You're  not  married,'  she  replied,  without 
looking  up.  'You  can  spare  it  I  dare  say.  It  is 
diflFerent  for  Jack.  He  hasn't  any  money  to  throw 
away.* 

"*Well,'  I  said,  *I  haven't  any  to  throw  away, 
either,  I  can  assure  you.     I  wouldn't  go  to  sea  if  I 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       77 

had.  But  Jack  thinks  this  is  a  great  opportunity  to 
invest  his  money  where  he  can  look  after  it.  You 
see,  he'll  be  drawing  a  salary  as  well  when  he's 
ashore  in  Saloniki.' 

"Still  she  didn't  look  up.  She  had  not  budged  an 
inch  from  her  conviction  that  I  agreed  with  her. 

**'I  couldn't  think  of  living  abroad,*  she  said, 
severely.     *I  have  Babs  to  consider.' 

"I'm  afraid  Jack  hadn't  thought  of  that.  He 
hadn't  visualized  his  wife  and  baby  dwelling  in  a 
Turkish  town,  cut  off  by  thousands  of  miles  of 
ocean  from  home.  He  had  been  so  preoccupied 
with  the  divine  prospect  of  *a  job  ashore'  that  he  had 
forgotten  the  environment.  And  we  had  been  to 
Saloniki  with  coal,  time  and  again.  I  can't  say  I 
blamed  her.  Residence  in  southeastern  Europe  has 
its  drawbacks  for  a  housewife.  And  quite  apart  from 
a  natural  repugnance  to  dirt,  Mrs.  Evans  had  an  un- 
natural repugnance  to  anything  foreign.  She  never 
really  left  England.  She  took  it  with  her.  She 
carried  with  her  into  her  husband's  cabin,  and  along 
the  wild  oriental  foliage  and  architecture  of  Alex- 
andrian streets,  the  prim  and  narrow  ideals  of  her 
native  valley.  It  never  occurred  to  her  that  those 
people  in  turbans  and  fezzes  were  human.  It  never 
occurred  to  her  when  a  French  or  Italian  girl  passed, 
dressed  with  the  dainty  and  charming  smartness  of 


78       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

her  race,  that  she  might  possibly  be  virtuous  as  well. 
She  shrivelled  at  their  very  proximity,  drawing  the 
angehe  Babs  from  their  contamination.  She  was 
uneasy,  and  would  continue  to  be  uneasy,  until  she 
was  safe  at  home  once  more  in  Threxford,  England. 
That  was  the  burden  of  her  unuttered  longing:  to  get 
home,  to  get  home,  back  to  the  little  semi-detached 
red-brick  villa  on  the  Portsmouth  Road,  which  her 
father  had  given  her  for  a  wedding  present  and 
which  fifty  Macedoines  would  never  induce  her  to 
seU. 

"For  that  is  what  it  would  mean  if  Jack  lq vested 
even  two  hundred  pounds  in  this  wonderful  enter- 
prise to  develop  Macedonia.  He  had  spent  several 
hundred  in  furnishing  the  house,  and  since  then  most 
of  his  two  hundred  a  year  had  gone  in  expenses,  for 
he  was  no  niggard  either  with  himself  or  those  he 
loved.  Neither  wife  nor  chick  of  his  should  ever 
lack  for  anything,  he  had  told  me  proudly.  If  a 
neighbour's  child  got  some  expensive  and  useless 
contraption  to  pull  about,  Babs  had  one,  too,  the  very 
next  week.  If  a  neighbour's  wife  got  a  fur  coat,  Mrs. 
Evans  had  orders  to  go  and  do  likewise,  a  more 
expensive  one  if  possible.  What  little  he  had  was  on 
dep>osit  in  the  bank  in  his  wife's  name,  so  that  she 
could  draw  on  it  whUe  he  was  away. 

"And  so  I  came  round  to  the  unpleasant  con  vie- 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       79 

tion  that  while  Mrs.  Evans  was  silently  awaiting 
my  repudiation  of  the  whole  thing,  her  husband  was 
expecting  me  to  use  my  eloquence  to  persuade  his 
wife  to  let  him  invest.  They  say  a  bachelor  has  no 
worries  of  his  own.  Which  is  as  well,  when  his 
married  friends  endeavour  to  make  him  responsible 
for  their  own  follies,  and  use  him  as  a  cushion  to 
soften  the  family  collisions.  I  was  an  old  hand  and 
slipped  out.  And  I  really  was  not  thinking  so  much 
of  my  own  two  hundred  pounds  salted  down  in 
Home  Rails,  as  of  Jack's  home,  when  I  said,  cheer- 
fully: 

"*Well,  this  Captain  Macedoine  can't  object  to 
giving  us  a  little  more  information.  And  he  can't 
expect  us  to  have  the  cash  with  us.  We  shall  have  to 
go  home  and  sell  something  and — er — draw  the 
money,  eh.'*' 

"*It  is  quite  out  of  the  question,'  said  Mrs. 
Evans,  biting  her  thread  as  though  she  was  severing 
the  spinal  chord  of  the  whole  proposition. 

"'So  what  I  suggest  is,  Jack  will  see  Captain 
Macedoine  and  we'll  take  the  voyage  home  to  think 
about  it.'  And  I  looked  at  Mrs.  Evans  to  approve 
my  machiavellian  astuteness. 

"*0h,  it's  quite  impossible,  quite.  I  couldn't 
think  of  leaving  England.  And  we  couldn't  spare 
the  money.' 


80       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

"*We  shouldn't  need  the  house  if  we  came  out 
here/  said  Jack,  looking  solemnly  at  his  wife.  She 
stiffened. 

"*We  canH  sell  the  house/  she  muttered  through 
her  teeth.  *  Where  should  we  live.^  I've  told  you. 
Jack,  it's  quite  impossible.' 

"  *  The  house  'ud  fetch  three  hundred  and  fifty,'  said 
Jack,  looking  at  me  with  round  solemn  eyes,  *and  the 
furniture  'ud  fetch  two  hundred  more.  And  there's 
— how  much  is  there  in  the  bank,  Madeline.'*  Say 
sixty  odd.  Six  hundred  pounds.  You  can  live  cheap 
in  a  place  like  Saloniki.' 

"  I  could  see  Mrs.  Evans  was  going  to  pieces.  She 
went  dull  red  and  then  dull  white,  dropped  a  stitch  or 
so,  moved  her  feet,  took  a  deep  breath  through  her 
nostrils.  I  was  seeing  the  human  being  at  last.  The 
lunatic  with  the  razor  was  after  her.  The  Bengal 
tiger  was  growling  near  by. 

"*  Don't  be  in  such  a  hurry,'  I  said,  sharply,  and  for 
the  first  time  that  woman  gave  me  a  glance  that 
might  be  tortured  into  a  faint  semblance  of  gratitude. 
*I  am  not  going  into  a  thing  until  I've  studied  it, 
and  nobody  but  a  madman  would  commit  himself  on 
anybody's  mere  say-so.  You  see  Macedoine,  Jack, 
when  you  go  ashore.' 

"'You'd  better  come,  too,*  he  said,  rather  glumly. 
*01d  Griinbaum  wants  some  coal  if  you  can  spare  it. 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       81 

Forty  ton,  he  said.     It'll  be  a  fiver  for  you.     Can 
you  let  him  have  it  and  get  to  Algiers?' 

"'I'll  see,'  I  said.  *I'll  go  through  the  bunkers  in 
the  morning.'  And  we  left  the  dangerous  subject  for 
the  time  being.  It  was  positively  refreshing  to  get 
out  of  the  heavy  atmosphere  charged  with  Mace- 
doine's  grandiose  schemes  and  Mrs.  Evans'  pre- 
monitions of  disaster  and  beggary  for  herself  and 
Babs.  That  angel  child  slept  through  it  all  on  the 
far  end  of  the  big  plush  settee,  fenced  in  with  a  teak 
bunk-board,  one  predatory  hand  clutching  the 
throat  of  an  enormous  teddy  bear  whose  eyes  stared 
upward  with  the  protruding  fixity  of  strangulation, 
as  though  even  in  sleep  she  found  it  necessary  to 
cause  someone  or  something  acute  discomfort.  Yes, 
it  was  refreshing,  for  I  don't  mind  admitting  that  the 
petty  graft  of  a  five-pound  note  that  I  was  to  get 
from  Griinbaum  for  selling  him  forty  toijs  of  coal  was 
more  to  me  than  all  the  cloudy  millions  of  Mace- 
doine's  imagination.  I  am  as  anxious  as  any  one  to 
get  something  for  nothing,  but  this  Anglo-Hellenic 
Development  Company,  in  which  I  was  to  get  four 
hundred  a  year  for  living  in  Saloniki,  didn't  appeal. 
In  the  regions  of  fancy  Macedoine  was  an  incompar- 
able inspiration;  in  business  I  preferred  the  unimagi- 
native concessionaire.  As  I  rose  to  go  up  on  deck,  I 
felt  that  whether  Mrs.  Evans  was  grateful  or  not  I 


82       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

had  earned  her  approbation.  Perhaps  she,  with  her 
feminine  intuition — or  possibly  it  was  only  the  in- 
stinct of  self-preservation — saw  the  necessity  of 
flattering  a  poor  silly  single  man,  for  she  remarked, 
with  her  head  bent  over  the  child's  to  touch  the 
tumbled  locks: 

"'I'm  sure  Mr.  Spenlove  will  give  you  the  best 
advice,  dear.' 

"And  I  felt  my  bosom  swell  with  pride.  Oh, 
women  are  wonderful!  Even  an  inferior  woman,  as 
Mrs.  Evans  was,  with  a  soul  like  a  parched  pea,  and 
a  heart  so  narrow  that  there  was  scarcely  room  in  it 
for  husband  and  child  at  the  same  time,  a  woman  of 
meagre  physique  and  frumpish  in  dress — even  she 
could  do  a  little  in  the  animal-taming  way — could 
crack  a  whip  and  make  the  lords  of  the  jungle  jump 
through  paper  hoops,  and  eat  out  of  her  hand.  Oh, 
yes !  Even  she  could  harness  us  and  drive  us  tandem 
through  the  narrow  gate  of  her  desire.  She  was  sure 
I  would  give  dear  Jack  the  best  advice.  And  in  the 
glow  of  this  benediction  I  departed. 

"Mr.  Bloom  was  on  deck,  moving  softly  to  and  fro, 
smoking  an  immense  meerschaum  carved  to  the 
likeness  of  a  skull.  It  was  a  warm  evening  and  he 
had  discarded  coat  and  vest,  displaying  a  soiled 
starched  shirt  and  black  suspenders  inadequately 
furnished  with  buttons.  The  doorway  was  in  shadow 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       83 

and  for  a  moment  I  watched  him,  promenading  in  the 
moonlight.  He  had  the  air,  as  he  stepped  back  and 
forth,  of  sharing  his  vigil  with  some  invisible  com- 
panion. At  times  he  nodded,  and  waving  his  pipe 
toward  the  rail,  might  have  been  holding  forth  in 
unspoken  words.  Getting  the  best  of  the  argument, 
of  course,  I  reflected  bitterly,  and  startled  him  by 
stepping  out  in  front  of  him. 

"'Good  evening,  Chief.  Fine  night  for  courtin', 
eh?  A  night  like  this  reminds  me  o'  the  time  when  I 
was  master.  The  moonlight,  and  the  cliff,  like  the 
Morro.  I  was  under  the  Cuban  flag  then  you  know. 
Chief.  This  brings  it  all  back.'  He  waved  his  grisly 
meerschaum  and  added:  'Lovely  place,  Havana.' 

"'Where's  the  Third  Mate.?'  said  Captain  Evans, 
suddenly  emerging  from  the  dark  doorway.  *He 
isn't  in  his  cabin.' 

"'He  went  ashore  with  the  pilot  in  the  cutter.  Sir,* 
said  Mr.  Bloom.  '  I  did  think  of  blowin'  the  whistle, 
only  it  occurred  to  me  it  might  disturb  the  baby.' 

"To  this  piece  of  extreme  consideration  Jack 
offered  no  reply.  He  walked  along  as  far  as  the 
engine-hatch  and  then,  putting  his  fingers  in  his 
mouth,  blew  a  shrill  blast  that  echoed  and  reechoed 
between  the  cliffs.  Men  began  to  move  about  the 
ship,  and  a  sailor  appeared  with  a  hurricane-lamp. 
A  faint  cry  came  out  of  the  intense  shadow  of  the 


84       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

western  shore  and  Jack  answered  it  with  a  stentorian 
'Cutter  ahoy!'  that  boomed  and  reverberated  over 
our  heads  and  trailed  away  into  a  wild  racket  of 
distant  laughter. 

"*  Don't  shout  so  loud,  man,'  I  suggested,  when  a 
cry  once  more  came  out  of  the  shadow  and  we  could 
see  a  faint  glow  as  of  a  lantern  in  a  boat  moving 
toward  us. 

"*Just  been  havin*  a  little  look  round,  I  dessay,* 
remarked  Mr.  Bloom  with  a  bland  tolerance  of  youth- 
ful folly  which  I  remember  irritated  me  intolerably. 
Jack  kept  his  gaze  fixed  on  the  slowly  moving  glow. 

"'There's  something  wrong,'  he  remarked,  soberly, 
ignoring  Mr.  Bloom  at  his  elbow. 

"* Oh,  I  don't  think  so.  Captain.    Only  a    .     .     .' 

**  *  I  tell  you  there's  something  wrong !  *  snarled  Jack, 
turning  on  him  suddenly.  *Stand  by  at  the  ladder 
there,'  and  the  man  with  the  hurricane-lamp  said, 
quietly,  'Right,  Sir.'  Jack  returned  his  gaze  to  the 
boat,  which  was  approaching  the  edge  of  the  shadow. 
How  he  knew,  I  don't  pretend  to  explain.  I  take  it 
he  had  afiairy  as  the  French  say,  the  sort  oi  flair  most 
of  us  acquire  in  our  own  profession  and  take  for 
granted,  but  which  always  appears  uncanny  in  an- 
other. And  it  was  remarkable  how  the  conviction 
that  there  was  something  wrong  seized  upon  the 
ship  and  materialized  in  a  line  of  shadowy  figures 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       85 

leaning  on  the  bulwarks  and  projecting  grotesquely 
illuminated  faces  into  the  light  of  the  lamp  on  the 
gangway. 

"'Mr.  Siddons  there.'' '  called  Jack,  quietly,  as  the 
boat  came  into  view  in  the  moonlight.  The  man  at 
the  tiller  sang  out  *No,  Sir,'  as  he  put  the  rudder  over 
and  added,  *way  'nuff.  Catch  hold  there!'  and  an- 
other figure  stood  up  in  the  bows  and  laid  hold  of  the 
grating. 

*'*  Stand  by,'  said  Jack  coming  down  to  the  after 
deck.  *  Come  up  here,  you,'  lie  added,  addressing  the 
man  who  had  spoken.  The  man,  one  of  the  sailors, 
came  up. 

***We  were  waitin'  for  Mr.  Siddons,  Sir,  when  you 
hailed.' 

"'What  orders  did  he  leave?' 

" 'Said  he  was  going  up  the  beach  a  little  way.  Sir. 
Told  us  he  wouldn't  be  long.' 

"'Where  did  you  land  the  pilot?' 

*"  At  Mr.  Griinbaum's  jetty.  Sir.  It's  the  best  for 
a  big  boat.' 

"'Then  where  is  he  now?' 

"'I  couldn't  say.  Sir,'  said  the  man.  'He  went  up 
the  path  with  the  pilot;  that's  all  we  know.' 

"Jack  took  a  turn  along  the  deck. 

"*P'rapsiI'd  better  go  and  'unt  him  up,'  suggested 
Mr.  Bloom,  stroking  his  moustache. 


86       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

"*And  leave  me  here  with  one  mate  and  no  pilot?' 
said  Jack.  '  Fred,  you  go.'  He  followed  me  into  my 
room  where  I  had  a  pocket-torch,  and  whispered, '  Go 
up  yourself.  Jack.  See  what  I  mean?  He's  a 
decent  young  feller,  even  if  I  do  find  fault.  Don't 
let  the  men  see  anything.' 

"'You  don't  think  he's  gone  on  the  booze?'  I  said, 
incredulously. 

"*I  don't  know  what  to  think,'  he  retorted,  ir- 
ritably. 'I  always  thought  he  had  plenty  o' 
principle.  You  can't  tell  nowadays.  But  we  don't 
want  him  to  spoil  himself  at  the  beginning  of  his 
career.     Understand  what  I  mean  ? ' 

"As  I  sat  in  the  stern  of  the  cutter  while  the  men 
pulled  back  into  the  shadow  which  was  about  to  en- 
gulf the  ship  (for  the  moon  was  setting)  I  felt  I  liked 
Jack  the  better  for  that  kindly  whisper  out  of  earshot 
of  the  estimable  Mr.  Bloom.  It  was  like  him.  Now 
and  again  you  could  look  into  the  depths  of  his 
character,  where  dwelt  the  old  immemorial  virtues  of 
truth  and  charity  and  loyalty  to  his  cloth.  I  even 
twisted  round  on  the  gunwale  as  I  steered  and  looked 
back  affectionately  at  his  short,  corpulent  figure 
walking  to  and  fro  on  the  bridge  deck,  worrying  him- 
self about  the  'young  feller,'  the  embodiment  of  a 
rough  yet  exquisite  altruism.  It  seemed  to  me  a 
manifestation  of  love  at  least  as  worthy  of  admira- 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       87 

tion  as  was  his  domestic  fidelity.  Oh,  yes!  You 
fellows  call  me  a  cynic,  but  I  believe  in  love,  never- 
theless. It  is  only  your  intense  preoccupation  with 
one  particular  sort  of  love  which  evokes  the  cynicism 
and  which  inspires  the  monstrous  egotism  of  women 
like  Mrs.  Evans. 

"'Hard  over,  Sir,'  said  the  leading  seaman.  *Way 
'nuff,  boys!'  I  flashed  my  torch  upon  the  tiny  jetty 
which  Griinbaum  had  made  near  his  house,  for  he 
often  went  on  fishing  expeditions  round  the  island,  I 
had  heard.  Steps  had  been  cut  down  from  a  path  in 
the  face  of  the  cliff  which  led  away  up  to  some  work- 
ings facing  the  sea,  but  which  are  out  of  sight.  When 
I  had  climbed  up  the  jetty  I  said: 

" '  Now  you  wait  here  while  I  go  along  to  the  house, 
and  make  enquiries.  I  don't  suppose  he's  very  far 
off.' 

"I  made  my  own  way  up  the  rough  stones  to  the 
path,  midway  between  the  soft  whisper  of  the  waves 
and  the  frightful  edge  above  my  head  and  I  felt  a 
momentary  vertigo.  I  was  suspended  in  the  depths 
of  an  impenetrable  darkness.  All  things — the  jetty, 
the  boat,  the  path,  were  swallowed  up.  Even  the 
ship  was  indicated  only  by  the  faint  hurricane-lamp 
at  the  gangway  and  the  reflection  of  the  galley-fire 
against  a  bulkhead.  Stone  for  building  and  for 
buttressing  the  mine-galleries  had  been  quarried  out 


88       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

below,  and  the  path  was  under-cut  and  littered  about 
with  the  debris  of  an  old  ore-tip.  I  moved  slowly 
toward  Griinbaum's  house,  and  as  my  eyes  became 
accustomed  to  the  darkness  I  saw  another  path,  a 
more  slanting  stairway,  on  the  face  of  the  cliff.  I 
paused.  It  was  some  hundred  yards  or  so  to  where 
Griinbaum's  house  stood,  as  you  see,  at  the  fbot  of 
the  slop)e.  In  the  darkness  Jack's  words  seemed  to 
me  to  shed  light.  There  was  something  wrong. 
But  if  something  was  wrong,  if  young  Siddons  had 
come  to  some  harm,  how  had  it  happened?  He  must 
have  had  some  motive  in  leaving  a  cutter  with  six 
men  to  wait  for  him.  As  for  my  idiotic  suggestion 
that  he  might  have  gone  on  the  booze,  there  wasn't  a 
cafe  within  three  miles  that  young  Siddons  would 
enter.  He  must  have  had  some  plan.  Of  course  we 
are  told,  with  wearisome  insistence,  to  look  for  the 
woinan;  but  we  don't  in  real  life.  We  look  for  all 
sorts  of  motives  before  we  look  for  the  woman.  And 
even  if  I  did  in  this  instance  supiK)se  for  a  moment 
that  Siddons  had  gone  off  on  some  mysterious 
adventure  involving  say.  Captain  Macedoine's 
daughter,  I  was  no  further  advanced.  He  could 
hardly  have  told  the  sailors  to  wait.  It  was  against 
all  traditions  of  the  service.  And  as  I  was  deciding 
that  he  must  have  come  to  harm,  and  wondering  how 
the  deuce  I  was  to  discover  him,  a  light  shone  out  for 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       89 

a  moment  above  me,  I  saw  a  figure  silhouetted  in  a 
doorway  and  then  vanish.  Someone  had  gone  in. 
I  started  up  the  steep  by-path  to  make  enquiries.  I 
knew  the  pilot,  a  predatory  person  from  Samos,  had 
a  hutch  on  the  mountain  somewhere,  and  it  occurred 
to  me  that  he  had  negotiated  the  sale  of  a  flask  or 
two  of  the  sweetish  wine  of  the  island,  and  young 
Siddons  had  seized  the  opportunity  to  get  it  aboard 
without  the  old  man  knowing  it.  Quite  a  rational 
theory,  I  thought,  as  I  toiled  up  the  path  getting 
short  of  breath.  And  suddenly  I  came  upon  the 
door  which  had  opened  and  closed,  a  door  in  a  house 
like  a  square  white  flat-topped  box,  with  a  window  in 
one  side  shedding  a  faint  glow  upon  a  garden  of 
shrubs. 

*'And  now  I  was  in  a  quandary.  I  sat  down  on  a 
bowlder  to  take  a  breath.  Supposing  I  knocked  at 
the  door  and  asked  if  any  one  had  seen  the  Third 
Mate,  and  the  inhabitants  had  not  seen  him  and 
couldn't  understand  me,  I  should  have  done  no  good. 
And  supposing  th^  had  seen  him,  or  that  he  was  in- 
side, I  should  have  some  diflSculty  in  explaining  my 
interest  in  his  private  affairs.  For  I  liked  him,  and 
we  are  always  afraid  of  those  whom  we  like.  It  is 
not  only  that  we  fear  to  tarnish  our  own  reputation  in 
their  eyes,  but  we  suffer  a  mingled  terror  and  pleasure 
lest  we  discover  them  to  be  unworthy  of  their  exalted 


90       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

position  in  our  affections.  So  I  got  up  and  instead  of 
knocking  at  the  door  I  stepped  among  the  shrubs  and 
came  to  the  window.  And  sitting  close  against  the 
wall,  with  a  small  table  in  front  of  him  and  his  head 
on  his  hand,  sat  Captain  Macedoine. 

"He  was  old.  He  showed,  as  we  say,  the  ravages 
of  time.  And  not  of  time  only.  Time  alone  could 
not  furrow  a  human  face  into  so  many  distorting 
folds  and  wrinkles.  As  I  recalled  the  sleek,  full-fed 
condition  of  his  big  smooth-shaven  face  when  I  had 
known  him  in  the  old  days,  I  was  revolted  at  the 
change.  It  was  as  though  an  evil  spirit  had  been 
striving  for  years  to  leave  him,  and  had  failed.  The 
cheeks  were  sunk  into  furrows  of  gray  stubble  and 
had  sagged  into  sardonic  ridges  round  the  thin, 
wavering  line  of  the  mouth.  The  red  eyelids 
blinked  and  twitched  among  the  innumerable  seams 
that  ran  back  to  the  sparse,  iron-gray  hair.  The 
nose,  quite  a  noble  and  aquiline  affair  once,  was  red 
at  the  end,  and  querulous,  like  the  long  lean  chin  and 
reedy  neck.  Only  the  brow  gave  any  hint  that  he 
might  not  be  a  casual  loafer  at  a  railroad  station 
willing  to  carry  your  grip  for  a  few  pennies.  High, 
narrow,  and  revealed  remorselessly  by  the  passing  of 
the  years,  it  was  the  brow  of  the  supreme  illusionist, 
the  victim  of  an  implacable  and  sinister  spiritual 
destiny.     I  have  said  that  when  I  saw  him  the 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       91 

previous  evening  he  had  the  look  of  a  man  trying  to 
win  back  into  the  world.  Now  that  I  saw  him  more 
clearly,  he  looked  as  though  he  had  come  back,  at 
some  frightful  cost,  and  regretted  it. 

"He  was  listening  to  someone  I  could  not  see  at  the 
moment,  and  raising  his  eyes  with  a  regularly  re- 
curring movement  that  was  almost  mechanical.  I 
shifted  a  little  to  take  in  another  view  of  the  small, 
shabbily  furnished  room.  Standing  by  the  end  of  a 
sofa,  on  which  I  could  see  a  girl's  feet  and  skirt,  was  a 
dark  young  man  brushing  his  frock  coat  and  talking 
with  what  struck  me  as  absurd  eloquence.  He  had 
never  shaved;  his  face  was  obscured  in  a  sort  of 
brown  fungus  and  was  blotchy  about  the  forehead 
and  chin.  His  black  eyes  rolled  as  he  talked  and 
flourished  the  brush.  He  seemed  to  be  describing 
something  highly  creditable  to  himself.  This,  I 
may  tell  you,  was  Monsieur  Nikitos,  visible  in 
business  hours  as  a  clerk  at  Griinbaum's  elbow,  or  in 
a  bare  barn  of  an  outer  office.  He  came  over  to  the 
table,  and  sitting  down  near  Captain  Macedoine, 
opened  an  account  book.  This  was  evidently  a 
seance  of  the  Anglo-Hellenic  Development  Company, 
I  thought,  and  I  moved  back  to  the  path.  I  had  no 
desire  to  spy  upon  any  of  these  people,  you  under- 
stand. I  had  to  find  Siddons,  and  even  the  intrigu- 
ing amusement  of  watching  a  great  illusionist  had  to 


92       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

recede  before  that  urgent  need.  I  regained  the 
path  below  and  thinking  I  would  go  down  to  the 
boat  in  case  he  had  returned  I  started  back.  The 
torch  showed  me  a  steep  descent  of  rubble  where  a 
cave-in  had  occurred,  a  gash  in  the  edge  of  the  path, 
I  thought  at  first  it  was  the  way  down  to  the  jetty  and 
I  flashed  the  lamp  steadily  ujwn  the  bottom.  There 
was  someone  lying  down  there.  It  was  not  long  be- 
fore I  was  kneeling  over  young  Siddons. 

"At  first,  you  know,  I  really  thought  he  was  dead. 
He  was  lying  face  upward  and  his  forehead  had  been 
gouged  open  above  the  left  eye  with  some  jagged  edge 
and  was  bleeding  in  thick,  slow  runnels  that  dis- 
appeared into  his  curly  hair.  He  lay  perfectly 
motionless,  but  as  I  bent  over  him  and  searched  the 
soft,  delicate  face  in  the  first  horror  of  grief,  the  eyes 
opened  wide  and  blinked  in  a  gaze  of  unconscious  en- 
quiry. 

"  *  What  is  it,  my  boy?*  I  asked  and  after  seeming  to 
collect  himself  he  asked,  in  perfect  calmness: 

"*Whoisthat?' 

"*The  Chief,'  I  answered.  'Did  you  fall?'  He 
closed  his  eyes  and  made  an  effort  to  move.  I  put 
my  arm  around  him.     He  said : 

"* Chief,  is  the  boat  still  there?'  I  told  him  it 


was. 


Help  me  up.    Be  careful.    I  think  my  collar- 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       93 

bone  is  broken  again.     Oh,  Lord!    Does — does  the 

Old  Man  know?' 

"'It  was  he  sent  me,'  I  said.     *He  was  afraid  you 

had  had  an  accident.     Does  that  hurt.'^' 

"  'No — ^but  catch  hold  of  me  lower  down,  will  you.''' 
"'How  did  it  happen.'*    Did  you  slip.?' 
" '  Oh ,  Lord !    Yes — slipped ,  you  know — look  out ! ' 
"*I  thought  you  were  dead,'     I  said  jocularly,  as 

we  reached  the  path. 

"And  under  his  breath  he  made  a  remark  that 

Captain  Macedoine's  daughter  had  made  to  me  not 

so  many  hours  before. 

"He  said  he  wished  he  was." 


CHAPTER  IV 

BY  JOVE,"  said  Mr.  Spenlove,  suddenly, 
after  a  long  silence,  "I  have  often 
wondered  what  might  have  happened  to 
us  if  young  Siddons  hadn't  tumbled  down 
there  and  smashed  himself  up.  I  mean,  supposing 
our  minds  hadn't  been  taken  off  the  great  subject  of 
Captain  Macedoine's  financial  projects.  Because, 
mind  you,  although  I  behaved  in  a  very  sagacious 
manner  while  discussing  the  matter  with  Jack  and 
his  wife,  I'm  not  at  all  prepared  to  say  that  I  wouldn't 
have  submitted  if  Jack  had  urged  it  in  his  tem- 
pestuous way.  The  psychology  of  being  stung  is  a 
very  complicated  affair.  We  pride  ourselves  on  our 
strong,  clear  vision  and  so  forth,  but  it  is  very  largely 
bluff.  We  are  all  reeds  shaken  by  the  winds  of 
desire.  In  spite  of  my  sagacity  the  notion  of  making 
a  fortune  was  alluring.  When  I  came  to  think  of  it 
the  idea  of  a  few  years  of  ruthless  exploitation  of  the 
toiling  inhabitants  of  a  region  for  which  I  had  no 
sympathy,  followed  by  a  dignified  return  to  England 
with  a  sunny  competence — say  ten  thousand  a  year, 

M 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       95 

afforded  an  attractive  field  for  the  development  of 
one's  personality.  I  suppose  it  comes  to  all  of  us  at 
times — a  vision  of  ourselves  with  the  power  to  expand 
to  the  utmost.  And  at  the  back  of  it  all  lay  the 
exasperating  and  tantalizing  thought  that  it  might  be 
possible.  The  very  preposterousness  of  the  sug- 
gestion was  in  its  favour,  in  a  way.  The  very  fact 
that  nobody  else  had  ever  thought  of  making  a 
fortune  out  of  Macedonia  led  one  to  wonder  if  it 
might  not  be  done.  You  get  an  idea  like  that  in 
your  head,  and  it  lies  there  and  simmers  and  seethes, 
and  finally  boils  over  and  you  have  taken  the  plunge. 
That's  what  might  have  happened,  if  I  had  not  gone 
ashore  to  look  for  young  Siddons,  and  accidentally 
beheld  the  great  Captain  Macedoine  himself  and  his 
lieutenant.  I  don't  say  that  the  mere  view  of  these 
two  worthies  discussing  their  plans  was  suflBcient  to 
convince  me  of  their  rascality.  I'm  not  convinced  of 
that  even  now.  What  I  did  acquire,  even  before 
young  Siddons  drove  the  whole  matter  into  the  back- 
ground, was  a  sudden  sense  of  proportion.  To 
associate  a  golden  fortune  with  those  two  shabby 
and  cadaverous  birds  of  prey  was  too  much.  And 
when  we  got  aboard  again  the  whole  proposition 
seemed  to  have  vanished  into  thin  air. 

"Of  course  everyone  was  excited.     Jack  had  to 
take  hold  and  give  orders.     He  shut  his  wife  and 


96       CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

youngster  up  in  their  cabin,  ordered  us  all  out  of  the 
saloon  except  the  steward,  and  set  to  work  on  young 
Siddons,  who  was  lying  on  the  table  with  a  towel 
under  his  head.  Mr.  Bloom,  who  had  been  rushing 
to  and  fro  making  friends  with  the  Second,  the 
Third,  and  even  the  donkey  man,  in  a  frenzied  at- 
tempt to  get  information  about  the  coal  which  was  to 
be  sold  the  next  day,  now  favoured  me  with  a  heart- 
to-heart  talk  on  the  subject  of  professional  etiquette. 
It  was  a  mistake,  in  his  opinion  as  an  exi)erienced 
ship's  oflBcer,  for  the  Captain  to  be  a  surgeon  as  well. 
It  was  time  we  took  a  firm  stand.  Owners  should  be 
informed  that  this  primitive  and  obsolete  state  of 
affairs  could  be  no  longer  tolerated.  Now  when  he 
was  sailing  under  the  Cuban  flag,  they  always  carried 
a  surgeon.  Compelled  to  by  law.  Of  course  one 
couldn't  let  a  man  die  for  lack  of  attention;  but  if  he 
was  in  Captain  Evans'  shoes,  he  would  send  in  a  re- 
port with  a  formal  protest  appended.  Do  everything 
courteously  and  in  due  form  but — be  firm !  That  was 
the  trouble  with  sea-going  officers — they  were  not 
firm  with  their  employers.  He  himself,  he  was  frank 
to  say,  had  often  given  owners  a  piece  of  his  mind, 
and  no  doubt  he  had  suffered  for  it.  And  why.'* 
Simply  because  he  got  no  support.  Now  he  knew  I 
wouldn't  take  any  silly  offence  if  he  mentioned  a 
personal  matter,  but  really  for  Captain  Evans  to  send 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       97 

an  engineer  ashore  in  a  boat  was  in  the  highest  degree 
unprofessional.  It  was  a  job  for  an  executive  officer, 
obviously.  Not  that  he  wished  to  criticise — far 
from  it — but  verb,  sap  as  they  say  at  Oxford  and 
Cambridge.  A  word  to  the  right  man,  mind  you, 
was  worthy  any  amount  of  useless  argument  with — 
well,  he  wouldn't  mention  any  names,  but  I  knew 
what  he  meant,  no  doubt. 

"How  long  this  enchanted  imbecile  would  have 
continued  his  monologue  I  shouldn't  care  to  say,  if 
Jack  had  not  called  me  down  to  help  get  young  Sid- 
dons  into  his  bunk.  The  collar-bone,  broken  more 
than  once  at  football,  would  knit  nicely,  he  said,  and 
he  had  put  a  couple  of  neat  stitches  in  the  gash  over 
the  eye.  Made  him  shout,  Jack  admitted  as  he 
washed  his  hands  with  carbolic  soap,  but  what  was  a 
little  pain  compared  with  being  disfigured  for  life? 
He  reckoned  it  would  heal  up  and  leave  no  more  than 
a  faint  scar.  What  did  I  reckon  he  was  doing,  eh? 
Funny  for  him  to  leave  the  boat.  Very  unusual. 
What  did  I  think? 

** 'Didn't  he  give  you  any  explanation? 'I  enquired. 

*'*Well,  I  suppose  you  can  call  it  an  explanation,' 
said  Jack,  *  in  a  way.  He  said  he  went  ashore  for  a 
few  minutes  on  a  private  matter,  and  he  would 
appreciate  it  if  I  took  his  word.  I'm  supposed  to 
keep  the  matter  private,  too,  so  keep  your  trap  shut. 


98       CAPTAIN  JVIACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

Fred.  Fact  is,'  he  went  on,  'it's  that  gel's  at  the 
bottom  of  it.  He's  one  of  those  young  fellers  who 
take  it  hard  when  they  do  take  it.  What  they  call  in 
novvels  hopeless  passion.' 

"I  was  surprised  at  Jack's  penetration.  Indeed  I 
was  surprised  at  his  allusion  to  what  he  called 
*  novvels '  for  he  had  never,  so  far  as  I  knew,  read  any. 
Perhaps  he  had  taken  a  surreptitious  squint  at  some 
of  the  exemplary  serials  which  Mrs.  Evans  affected. 

"'Then  you  won't  take  any  action?'  I  said. 

"'Why  should  I.''  He's  had  an  accident,  that's 
all.  If  he'd  fell  down  and  broke  his  neck,  it  would  be 
different.  As  it  is,  he's  had  a  lesson.  I  must  go  up 
and  take  a  look  round.* 

"Jack  went  up  on  deck  to  take  a  look  at  the  moor- 
ing ropes,  for  the  weather  is  treacherous  in  spring  and 
autumn  hereabouts,  and  more  than  once  we  had  to 
slip  and  run  out  to  sea.  I  stepped  into  the  little 
alleyway  on  the  port-side  and  walked  along  to  young 
Siddons'  room.  The  door  was  on  the  hook  and  a 
bright  bar  of  light  lay  athwart  the  floor  of  the  alley- 
way. He  was  lying  on  his  back  as  we  had  left  him,  his 
unbandaged  eye  staring  straight  up  at  the  deck  over- 
head. As  I  opened  the  door  and  closed  it  behind  me 
he  turned  that  eye  upon  me  without  moving  his  head. 

'"All  right?'  I  asked,  just  for  something  to  say. 
He  made  a  slight  gesture  with  his  hand,  signifying,  I 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER       99 

imagine,  that  it  was  nothing.  His  face  had  that 
expression  of  formidable  composure  which  the  young 
assume  to  conceal  their  emotions.  I  don't  know 
exactly  why  I  bothered  myself  with  him  just  then. 
Perhaps  because  there  is  for  me  a  singular  fascination 
in  watching  the  young.  I  won't  say  it  is  affection, 
because  our  relations  are  usually  of  the  sketchiest 
description.  Sometimes  I  don't  know  them  at  all. 
I  fancy  it  is  because  one  sees  oneself  in  them  sur- 
rounded by  the  magical  glamour  of  an  incorruptible 
destiny.  As  we  say,  they  are  refreshing,  even  in 
their  griefs,  and  there  is  something  in  the  theory  that 
we,  as  we  are  crossing  the  parched  areas  of  middle 
age,  can  draw  upon  their  spiritual  vitality  to  our  own 
advantage  if  not  to  theirs. 

"'Nothing  you  want,  eh?'  I  said,  looking  round. 
The  one  bright  eye  stared  straight  up  again. 

"'Will  you  do  me  a  favour.  Chief?'  he  asked  in  a 
low  tone. 

"*0f  course  I  will,'  I  answered.     'What  is  it?' 

'"If  you  wouldn't  mind,  when  you  go  ashore,  to 
see  Miss  Macedoine  and  tell  her  I  am  sorry  she 
couldn't — you  see,'  he  broke  off,  suddenly,  *I  said 
I'd  see  her  this  evening.  I  went  up  .  .  .  she 
wasn't  there.  I  couldn't  wait  .  .  .  boat  wait- 
ing, you  know.  Then  something  .  .  .  well,  I 
fell  down.     Would  you  mind?' 


100     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

"'I'll  tell  her,'  I  said.     *Is  she  fond  of  you?' 

"His  eye  closed  and  he  lay  as  motionless  as  though 
he  were  dead. 

"*I  don't  suppose  it  matters  now,'  he  remarked, 
very  quietly.  *I  shan't  see  her  again,  very  likely. 
Only  I  thought — if  you  told  her  how  it  was  .  .  . 
you  understand.'^' 

" ' I  tell  you  what  I'll  do,'  I  replied.  ' I'll  ask  her  to 
come  and  see  you.     Isn't  that  the  idea.'^' 

"*Yes,  that's  the  idea,'  he  returned  with  extraor- 
dinary bitterness.  *That's  all  it's  likely  to  be — an 
idea.  I  never  did  have  any  luck.  It's  always  the 
way,  somehow.  The  things  you  want  .  .  .  you 
can't  get.     And  now,  this     ...     I  say,  Chief.* 

"'Well?' 

"'Excuse  me,  won't  you,  talking  like  this.  I'm 
awfully  grateful  really.  It  means  a  good  deal  to 
me,  if  she  only  knows  I  meant  to  be  there.  She  said 
I  could— if  I  liked.' 

" ' Isn't  she  playing  with  you? '  I  asked,  harshly.  He 
put  up  his  hand. 

"'No,  she's  not  that  sort.  She's  different  from 
other  girls.  She's  had  a  rotten  time  ...  I 
can't  tell  you  ...  It  would  have  been  different 
if  she  was  coming  home  with  us.  Everything  seems 
against  me.  No  matter  ...  a  chap  has  to  put 
up  with  his  luck,  I  suppose.' 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     101 

"'You'll  pick  up,'  I  suggested,  without  much  bril- 
liance I  am  afraid.  He  made  no  reply,  lying  with  a  sort 
of  stern  acquiescence  in  the  enigmatic  blows  of  fate. 

"And  the  next  day,  when  the  ore  was  crashing  into 
the  holds  and  the  ship  lay  in  a  red  fog  of  dust.  Jack 
and  I  went  ashore  on  our  business.  I  remember  Mr. 
Bloom  walking  to  and  fro  on  the  bridge  deck  with  the 
Second  Mate,  nudging  him  facetiously  as  they  passed 
the  Second,  who  was  rigging  his  tackle  over  the 
bunker,  and  nodding  toward  us  as  we  made  our  way 
among  the  ore-trucks  and  down  to  the  beach.  The 
Second  had  told  me  that  *the  nosey  blighter'  had 
been  making  inquiries  about  the  coal,  with  sly 
innuendoes  dusted  over  his  sapient  remarks.  It  was 
a  subject  to  which  Mr.  Bloom's  lofty  conceptions  of 
'professional  etiquette'  would  do  full  justice.  As 
we  climbed  the  steps  which  ran  up  outside  Griin- 
baum's  house,  I  was  wondering  to  myself  if  I  should 
be  able  to  redeem  my  promise  to  young  Siddons. 
There  seemed  small  likelihood  of  it  unless  I  took 
Jack  into  our  confidence.  We  entered  a  high  stone 
passage  through  the  farther  end  of  which  we  could 
see  Griinbaum's  orchard  and  Griinbaum's  five 
children  playing  under  the  trees  in  the  care  of  a  fat 
Greek  woman.  We  turned  to  the  left  into  an  im- 
mense chamber  with  a  cheap  desk  and  oflSce  chair 
in  one  comer.  The  whitewashed  walls  were  decorated 


102     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

with  oleographs  of  imaginary  Greek  steamships,  all 
fminels  and  bridge,  with  towering  knife-like  prows 
cleaving  the  Atlantic  at  terrific  speed.  There  were 
advertisements  of  Greek  and  Italian  insurance 
companies,  too,  and  a  battered  yellow  old  map  of  the 
Cyclades.  And  standing  at  the  tall  windows  was  a 
figm-e  in  a  frock  coat  squinting  through  a  telescope. 
He  put  it  down  hurriedly  as  we  entered,  walked 
across  to  the  desk,  and  resting  his  hand  on  it,  made 
us  a  bow.  This  was  Monsieur  Nikitos,  the  lieuten- 
ant of  the  mighty  enterprise.  I  must  confess  that 
his  pose  at  that  moment  was  less  of  the  financier 
than  of  a  world-famous  virtuoso  at  the  piano  bowing 
to  a  tumult  of  applause. 

"'This  is  the  Chief  Engineer,*  said  Jack.  The 
virtuoso  favoured  me  with  a  special  bow,  and  waved 
his  hand  to  a  couple  of  chairs. 

"*Take  a  seat.  Captain.  Take  a  seat.  Mister 
Chief.  Mr.  GrUnbaum  is  engaged  at  the  moment. 
I  take  the  opportunity  of  mentioning  the  little 
matter  we  discussed  yesterday.  Captain.  I  have  no 
doubt  you  will  take  shares  in  our  compan3\' 

"Jack  looked  at  me,  and  I  regarded  Monsieur 
Nikitos  with  fresh  interest.  He  was  a  most  mys- 
terious creature  to  look  at,  now  we  were  close  to  him. 
He  was  quite  young,  not  more  than  twenty-five,  and 
the  black  fuzz  on  his  face  gave  him  a  singularly  dirty 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     103 

appearance.  As  he  sat  in  his  swivel  chair  with  the 
tails  of  his  dusty  frock  coat  draped  over  the  arms, 
tapping  his  large  white  teeth  with  his  pen  and  brush- 
ing his  black  hair  from  his  blotchy  forehead,  he 
suddenly  gave  me  the  impression  of  a  poet  trying  to 
think  of  a  rhyme. 

*'*We  have  decided,'  I  said,  and  he  dropped  his 
hands  and  inclined  his  ear,  'to  think  it  over.'  He 
slumped  back  in  his  chair,  smiled,  and  shook  his  head. 
Then  he  straightened  up  and  reaching  for  a  ruler 
looked  critically  at  it. 

"*We  cannot  wait.  In  affairs  of  finance  one  must 
think  quickly,  then  act — so!'  He  snapped  his 
thumb  and  finger.  *If  not,  the  chance  is  gone. 
Now  I  show  you.  To-day,  Captain  Macedoine 
resigns.  Yes!  To-morrow,  /  resign.  Like  that. 
To-morrow  also.  Monsieur  Spilliazeza,  our  in- 
valuable manager  of  works,  resigns!  To-night,  the 
OsivdTtli  calls  for  the  mails.  We  go  by  the  Osmanli, 
our  vessel,  to  Saloniki.  We  arrive.  We  take  action 
at  once.'  He  waved  his  arms.  *  Action!  Next 
week  it  will  be  too  late.  Option  taken  up,  work 
commenced,  contracts  awarded,  organization  com- 
plete. It  is  all  here.'  He  tapped  his  forehead.  'I 
have  it  complete,  in  inauguration,  here.'  And  he 
regarded  us  with  a  gaze  of  rapt  abstraction  in  his 
brilliant  black  eyes. 


104     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

"I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  the  chief  impression 
this  performance  made  upon  me  was  that  he  was  a 
lunatic.  Jack  was  staring  solemnly  at  him.  I 
imagine  he  began  to  have  doubts  of  the  wisdom  of 
entrusting  this  creature  with  real  money.  And 
then  a  bell  tinkled,  one  of  a  pair  of  high  dark  folding 
doors  opened,  and  I  had  a  glimpse  of  a  great  room 
where  an  enormously  fat  man  sat  in  the  curve  of  a 
vast  horseshoe  shaped  desk.  It  was  only  a  mo- 
mentary view,  you  understand,  of  the  diffused  light 
shed  by  three  tall  windows  upon  a  chamber  of  un- 
usual size.  I  had  an  impression  of  glancing  into  a 
museum,  a  glimpse  of  a  statue,  very  white  and  tall 
with  an  arm  broken  off  short,  gleaming  glass  cases  of 
small  things  that  shone  like  opals  and  aquamarines, 
and  great  bunches  of  coral  like  petrified  foam.  I  saw 
all  this  as  the  door  stood  for  a  moment,  the  fezzed 
head  of  a  little  old  gentleman  looking  out  and 
mumbling  the  word  'KapiianI  *  We  stood  up. 
Jack  made  a  movement  to  go  in.  Monsieur  Nikitos 
came  between  us  and  regarded  us  as  though  we  were 
conspirators. 

"*  Monsieur  Griinbaum  will  see  the  Kapitan,'  he 
remarked  in  a  loud  voice,  and  then  in  a  whisper,  'Of 
this — not  a  word.'  And  he  pressed  his  knuckles  to  his 
lips.  And  then  Jack  passed  into  the  room,  the  door 
closed  softly,  and  I  was  alone  with  Monsieur  Nikitos. 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     105 

**My  feelings  at  that  moment,  you  know,  were 
mixed.  I  was  astonished.  I  was  amused.  I  was 
indignant.  I  looked  at  the  frock-coated  figure  before 
me  with  an  expression  of  profound  distaste  and 
contempt.  He  gave  me  a  confidential  smile  and 
indicated  a  chair.  I  sat  down,  looking  at  the  closed 
folding  doors.  And  as  I  sat  there  I  became  aware 
that  Monsieur  Nikitos  was  indulging  in  a  whispered 
monologue.  I  caught  the  words — man  of  wide 
views — great  wealth — vast  experience — unlimited 
prospects — unique  grasp  of  detail — necessary  in 
aflPairs — ^man  of  affairs  .  .  .  and  then,  in  a 
lower  tone — daughter — beauty — happiness — future — 
efforts  redoubled — found  fortunes — ideals — cannot 
express  feelings — humble  aspirations — many  years 
— ambition — travel.     .     .     . 

"I  suppose  I  must  have  made  some  sound  to  in- 
di'^ate  my  coherent  interest  in  this  unlooked-for 
rigmarole,  for  he  sprang  up,  and  placed  himself 
between  me  and  the  folding  doors.  He  bent  his 
head  to  my  ear.  He  desired  to  know  if  I  considered 
my  Kapitan  reliable.  Would  he  invest.'*  That  was 
the  thing.  Would  he  invest.'*  Had  he  character.'' 
Why  did  he  ask?  Because  he  had  a  design.  The 
Swedish  Kapitan  who  had  invested  was  a  single 
man,  a  man  of  no  education,  I  was  to  understand — no 
culture.     But  my  Kapitan  was  a  married  man.     Of 


106     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

course  he  would  settle  in  Saloniki,  that  fairest  jewel 
in  the  Tiu-kish  crown.  He  himself  knew  a  house  lq  a 
good  street — just  the  thing.  He  was  anxious  about 
this  because  he  himself  would  shortly  become  a 
married  man.  He  sat  down  abruptly  and  waved  the 
ruler.  As  in  a  dream  I  sat  there  listening  to  his 
words.  I  have  a  notion  now  that  he  gave  me  his 
whole  life  history.  I  recall  reference  to — early 
years — great  ambitions — great  work — frustrated — 
years  of  exile — unique  qualifications — internation- 
al journalism — special  correspondent — highly  com- 
mended— friend  of  liberty — confidential  agent,  and 
so  on.  He  had  an  immense  command  of  rapidly 
enunciated  phrases  which  were  run  together  and 
interspersed  with  melodramatic  pauses  and  gestures. 
And  I  said  nothing — nothing  at  all.  He  ran  on, 
apparently  quite  satisfied  that  I  had  a  deep  and 
passionate  interest  in  his  vapourings.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  I  paid  very  little  attention.  I  was  wondering 
whether  it  would  be  worth  my  while  to  obtain  an 
interview  with  the  girl,  if  what  he  had  hinted  were 
true,  that  her  assistance  in  her  father's  designs  was  to 
marry  this  eloquent  lieutenant  and  satisfy  his 
*  humble  aspirations.'  And  while  I  wondered  I  heard 
harsh  words  uttered  within  the  folding  doors — 
confidence  in  my  dispositions — said  a  voice  of  grating 
power  and  guttural  sound.     Monsieur  Nikitos  looked 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     107 

at  me  for  an  instant  and  waved  his  ruler.  He 
muttered.  He  alluded  to  tyrannical  obstinacy — 
unimaginative  autocracy — intolerable  domination — 
and  other  pK)ly syllabic  enormities.  The  harsh  voice 
went  on  in  an  unintelligible  rumble,  rising  again  to 
*post  of  a  secretarial  nature — a  man  of  undeserved 
misfortune — my  disgust — effrontery  to  submit — 
resignation.'  I  listened,  and  Monsieur  Nikitos,  who 
was  gazing  at  me,  gradually  assumed  an  expression  of 
extreme  alarm.  He  rose  and  went  on  tip-toe  into  the 
outer  hall.  He  reappeared  suddenly  with  a  broad- 
brimmed  felt  hat  on  his  head.  He  muttered  some 
excuses — appointment — return  immediately — urgent 
necessity — apologies — in  a  moment — and  tip-toed 
away  again,  leaving  me  alone. 

**I  was  beginning  to  think  Jack  had  forgotten  all 
about  me  when  he  came  out  and  closed  the  door  be- 
hind him.  We  walked  out  into  the  passage  together, 
but  he  made  no  remark  until  I  asked  him  if  it  was  all 
right  about  the  coal.  He  said  yes,  it  was  all  right, 
but  what  did  I  think?  That  chap  Macedoine  was  a 
wrong-un,  according  to  Griinbaum.  Trying  to  get 
control.  Griinbaum  had  sacked  him.  After  fetch- 
ing his  daughter  out  for  him,  too.  It  was  true,  what 
Nikitos  had  told  us.  They  were  going  all  right  but 
because  they  had  to.  Griinbaum  was  in  a  devil  of  a 
rage  over  it.     Had  cabled  to  Paris  to  send  out  some 


108     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

more  men.  Good  job  he'd  had  the  notion  of  asking 
Griinbaum  about  it,  eh?  Might  have  lost  our 
money.  Now  he  came  to  think  of  it,  that  Greek 
didn't  look  very  reliable.  Was  I  coming  back  on 
board? 

"We  paused  on  the  beach,  where  a  few  fishing 
boats  were  drawn  up  and  the  nets  lay  in  the  sun 
drying. 

" 'I  don't  think  I  will,'  I  said.  ' I  guess  I'll  take  a 
walk  up  the  cliff  over  there.  When  will  you  pull  off 
to  the  buoys?' 

*"Not  a  minute  after  five,'  he  returned.  'It's 
none  so  safe  here  at  night.  Steam  ready  all  the  time 
remember,  Fred.  Griinbaum  was  just  giving  me  a 
friendly  warning.' 

"I  started  off  for  a  walk  up  the  cliff.  The  point 
where  the  path  cut  round  the  comer  stood  sharp 
against  the  sky  and  led  me  on.  As  I  gained  the 
beginning  of  the  rise  I  could  look  back  and  down  into 
Griinbaum's  garden  where  lemon,  fig,  plum,  and 
almond  trees  grew  thickly  above  green  grass  cut  into 
sectors  by  paths  of  white  marble  flags  and  with  a 
fountain  sending  a  thin  jet  into  the  air.  I  could  see 
children  playing  about  under  the  trees,  but  there  were 
no  birds.  There  were  no  birds  on  the  island.  I 
realized  this  perfectly  irrelevant  fact  at  that  moment, 
and  I  became  aware  of  the  singular  isolation  of  this 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     109 

man  living  under  the  gigantic  shadow  of  the  moun- 
tain. It  gave  me  a  sudden  and  profound  conscious- 
ness of  his  extreme  security  against  the  designs  of 
imaginative  illusionists.  The  vast  bulk  of  the  man 
became  identified  in  my  mind  with  the  tremendous 
mass  of  rock  against  which  I  was  leaning.  The 
momentary  glimpses  into  his  office,  the  memory  of 
the  bizarre  conjunction  of  ancient  statuary  with  the 
furniture  of  business  and  money-making,  the  harsE 
voice  reverberating  through  the  lofty  chambers,  gave 
me  a  feeling  that  I  had  been  assisting  at  some 
incredible  theatrical  performance.  I  started  off 
again.  I  felt  I  needed  a  walk.  After  all,  these 
reflections  were  but  an  idle  fancy.  Jack  and  I  were 
not  likely  to  risk  our  small  savings  in  any  such  wild- 
cat schemes.  Jack's  words  about  pulling  off  to  the 
buoys  had  recalled  me  to  a  sense  of  serious  responsi- 
bility. One  always  had  that  hanging  over  one  while 
in  Ipsilon.  Griinbaum,  from  his  secure  fastness 
under  the  mountain,  was  familiar  with  the  incalcu- 
lable treachery  of  the  wind  and  sea. 

"I  was  soon  far  above  the  habitation  of  men» 
Above  me  slanted  the  masses  of  weathered  limestone 
and  marble;  below,  reduced  to  the  size  of  a  child's 
toy,  I  could  see  the  Manola.  At  intervals  I  could 
hear  a  faint  rattle  and  another  cloud  of  red  dust 
would  rise  from  her  deck,  like  the  smoke  of  a  bom- 


110     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

bardment.  Far  below  me  were  a  tiny  group  of  men 
at  work  in  a  quarry.  They  seemed  to  be  engaged  in 
some  fascinating  game.  They  clustered  and  broke 
apart,  running  here  and  there,  crouching  behind 
boulders,  and  remaining  suddenly  still.  There 
would  be  a  dull  thump,  a  jet  of  smoke,  and  a  few 
pieces  of  rock,  microscopic  to  me,  would  tumble 
about.  And  then  all  the  pigmy  figures  would  run  out 
again  and  begin  industriously  to  peck  at  these  pieces, 
like  ants,  and  carry  them,  with  tiny  staggerings,  out 
of  sight.  I  watched  them  for  a  moment  and  then 
walked  on  until  I  came  to  the  comer  where  the  path 
curves  to  the  right  and  eventually  confronts  the 
open  sea.  I  was  alone  with  the  inaccessible  summits 
and  the  soft  murmur  of  invisible  waves  breaking  upon 
half-tide  rocks.  I  was  in  mid-air  with  a  scene  of 
extraordinary  beauty  and  placidity  spread  before 
me.  The  sea,  deep  blue  save  where  it  shallowed  into 
pale  green  around  the  farther  promontory,  was  a 
mirror  upon  which  the  shadows  of  clouds  flickered 
and  passed  like  the  moods  of  an  innocent  soul.  In 
the  distance  lay  the  purple  masses  of  other  islands, 
asleep.  It  was  as  though  I  were  gazing  upon  a 
beautiful  and  empty  world,  awaiting  the  inevitable 
moment  when  men  should  claim  the  right  to  destroy 
its  loveliness.     .     .     . 

"At  intervals  along  the  face  of  the  cliff  were 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     HI 

tunnels  which  led  through  the  marble  shell  of  the 
mountain  into  the  veins  of  ore.  I  walked  along 
looking  for  a  place  to  sit  down,  stepping  from  tie  to 
tie  of  the  narrow-gauge  track  along  which  the  mine 
trucks  were  pushed  by  Griinbaum's  islanders.  I 
suppose  the  vein  had  petered  out  up  there.  .  .  . 
I  don't  know.  One  of  Griinbaum's  dispositions, 
perhaps.  Anyhow  it  was  deserted.  I  came  to  a 
huge  mass  of  rock  projecting  from  the  face,  so  that 
the  track  swerved  outward  to  clear  it.  I  walked 
carefully  round  and  stopped  suddenly. 

*'She  was  sitting  there,  leaning  against  the  entrance 
to  a  working,  and  looking  out  across  the  sea.  With- 
out alarm  or  resentment  she  turned  her  head  slightly 
and  looked  at  me,  and  then  bent  her  gaze  once 
more  upon  the  distance.  I  hesitated  for  a  moment, 
doubtful  of  her  mood,  and  she  spoke  quietly. 

*'  *  What  is  it.f* '  she  asked.  I  went  up  and  stood  by 
her. 

"  *  I  have  a  message  for  you,'  I  remarked,  and  took 
out  a  cigarette.  'But  I  had  no  idea  you  were  up 
here.  In  fact,  I  dare  say  I  should  have  gone  back  on 
board  without  giving  it  to  you.' 

*'*What  is  it?'  she  said  again,  and  this  time  she 
looked  at  me. 

**  *  Yofu  don't  know,  I  suppose,'  I  said,  *that  Siddons 
— the  Third  Mate — ^has  had  an  accident?' 


112     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

"She  looked  away  and  paused  before  answering. 

*'*I  see,'  she  remarked,  though  what  she  saw  I  did 
not  quite  comprehend  at  the  moment.  It  seemed  a 
strange  comment  to  make. 

"'Oh,  come!'  I  said.  'Don't  say  you're  not  inter- 
ested.' 

" '  How  did  it  happen? '  she  enquired,  looking  at  her 
shoe. 

"  I  told  her.  She  turned  her  foot  about  as  though 
examining  it,  her  slender  hands  clasped  on  her  lap. 
She  had  an  air  of  being  occupied  with  some  problem 
in  which  I  had  no  part. 

"'And  the  message?'  she  said  at  length.  I  gave 
her  that,  too,  briefly,  and  without  any  colouring  of  my 
own.  She  put  one  leg  over  the  other,  clasping  her 
knee  with  her  hands,  and  bent  forward,  looking 
suddenly  at  me  from  under  bent  brows. 

"'WTiat  can  I  do?'  she  demanded  in  a  low  tone. 

"'But  don't  you  see,'  I  returned.  'He's  in  love 
with  you.' 

"She  gave  a  faint  shrug  of  the  shoulders  and 
uttered  a  sound  of  amusement. 

'"Then  you  are  indifferent?'  I  asked,  annoyed. 

'"What  else  can  I  be?'  she  said.  'Boys  always 
think  they  are  in  love.  I  don't  think  much  of  that 
sort  of  love.'  And  she  fell  silent  again,  looking  at  the 
sea. 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     113 

*'*Look  here,  my  dear,'  I  said  abruptly,  *tell  me 
about  it.     I'm  in  the  dark.     Can't  I  help  you?' 

*"No,'  she  said.  'You  can't.  Nobody  can  help 
me.     I'm  in  a  fix.' 

"'But  how?'  I  persisted. 

*"Do  you  suppose,'  she  said,  slowly,  'that  nobody 
has  been  in  love  with  me  before  I  came  on  your 
ship?  I  thought  you'd  understand,  when  I  told  you 
I  had  never  had  any  luck.  I  haven't.  I  had  no  one 
to  tell  me.  I  thought  people  were  kinder,  you  know 
— men,  I  mean.  And  now  all  I  can  do  is  wait  .  .  . 
wait.  Sometimes  I  wish  I  was  dead,  wish  I'd  never 
been  born!  Before  you  came  up,  I  was  wondering  if 
I  couldn't  just  jump — ^finish  it  all  up — no  more 
waiting.  And  then  I  found  I  hadn't  the  pluck  to  do 
that.  I  tried  to  tell  Mrs.  Evans  once,  give  her  a  hint 
somehow,  but  she  doesn't  understand.  She's  safe. 
She's  got  a  husband  as  well  as  ...  no  matter. 
I  was  going  to  tell  you,  one  evening,  you  remembo*, 
but  I  got  scared.  I  didn't  feel  sure  about  you.  Oh, 
I'm  sorry,  of  course,  about  Mr.  Siddons.  I  liked 
him,  you  know.  He's  a  gentleman.  But  even 
gentlemen  are  very  much  the  same  as  anybody  else.' 

"'But  what  will  you  do?'  I  asked  in  astonishmoit. 

"'I  must  go  with  my  father,'  she  replied,  stonily. 
'He  wants  me  to  be  with  him.  He  is  not  happy  here. 
He  is  misunderstood.     He  is  going  into  business  with 


114     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

my — with  another  man.  We  are  going  to  Saloniki. 
I  dare  say  I  shall  do  as  he  wishes.  That's  what  a 
daughter  should  do,  isn't  it? '  And  her  eyes  flickered 
toward  me  again. 

*'I  didn't  answer,  and  there  was  a  long  silence.  I 
had  no  words  of  consolation  for  that  solitary  soul 
engaged  in  the  sombre  business  of  waiting.  And  I 
understood  the  trivial  role  which  young  Siddons 
played  in  her  tragic  experience.  To  her  we  were  all 
pasteboard  figures  actuated  by  a  heartless  and 
irrelevant  destiny.  Fate  had  shut  the  door  upon  her 
with  a  crash,  and  she  was  alone  with  her  griefs  in  an 
alien  world.  I  put  my  arm  round  her  shoulders. 
She  looked  at  me  with  hard  bright  eyes,  her  red  lips 
firmly  set. 

"*Can  I  help  you?'  I  whispered.  She  shook  her 
head.  *At  least,'  I  went  on,  'you  can  write  to  me,  if 
you  were  in  trouble — ever.  I  would  like  you  to  feel 
that  someone  is  thinking  of  you.' 

"'It's  kind  of  you,'  she  said,  with  a  faint  smile, 
*but  you  wouldn't  be  able  to  do  much.  Oh!  I 
know  what  men  are,'  she  added  with  a  hysterical 
little  laugh.  *  Always  thinking  of  themselves.  There's 
always  that  behind  everything  they  do.  They  don't 
mean  it,  but  it's  there,  all  the  time.  Even  you 
wouldn't  do  anything  to  make  yourself  uncomfort- 
able, you  know.' 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     115 

"*You  don't  think  a  great  deal  of  us,*  I  remon- 
strated, taking  my  arm  away. 

***No,  I  don't!'  she  said  with  sudden  hard  vicious- 
ness  of  tone.     'I've  had  very  little  reason  to,  so  far.' 

"'You  are  meeting  trouble  half  way,  going  on  like 
this,' I  said,  severely.  'Come now.  I  insist.  Promise 
me  you  will  write  when  you  get  to  Saloniki.  Here, 
I'll  give  you  my  address.'  And  I  gave  it  to  her.  She 
sighed. 

*"I'm  not  afraid  of  life,'  she  said,  'when  it  is  fair 
play.  But  I  haven't  had  fair  play.  I've  been  up 
against  it  every  time.     If  I  got  a  chance ' 

"'What  sort  of  a  chance.'''  I  asked,  curiously. 
There  was  a  look  of  savage  determination  on  her 
face,  and  she  clenched  her  teeth  and  hands  on  the 
word  'chance.' 

"*0h,  I'm  not  done  yet,'  she  exclaimed  to  the  air. 
'I'm  in  a  fix,  but  if  I  ever  get  out  of  it  alive,  look  out ! ' 

"  *  What  do  you  mean.'' '  I  asked  again. 

"'Nothing  that  you  would  approve  of,'  she 
answered,  dropping  her  voice.  'Nothing  any  of  you 
would  approve  of.' 

"'That  means  it's  something  foolish,'  I  remarked. 

"  'Perhaps.     We'll  see,'  she  retorted. 

"  'I  would  like  to  have  taken  a  word  back  to  young 
Siddons,'  I  hinted.  'Just  to  show  you  cared  a 
little.' 


116     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

"*But  I  don't!'  she  burst  out.  'I  don't!  He 
bothered  me  to  let  him  come  and  see  me  and  I  said — I 
don't  know  what  I  said.  Tell  him  anything  you 
like.     I  don't  care.     I'm  sick  of  it  all  there!' 

"'You  are  making  it  very  hard  for  me,'  I  said, 
gently,  and  she  jflung  round  suddenly  and  faced  me, 
her  eyes  shining,  her  lips  parted  in  a  rather  mirthless 
smile.  She  was  an  extraordinarily  beautiful  creature 
just  then.  Her  face,  with  its  slightly  broad,  firmly 
modelled  nostrils,  the  small  ears  set  close  under  the 
cloud  of  soft  dark  hair,  and  the  thick  black  eyebrows, 
was  informed  with  a  kind  of  radiance  that  heightened 
the  sinister  impression  of  her  scorn.  She  regarded 
me  steadfastly  as  though  she  had  had  her  curiosity 
suddenly  aroused. 

" '  You ! '  she  said.  '  Hard  for  you  ?  What  is  there 
hard  for  you  anywhere?  You  don't  take  any 
chances.     Humph!'  and  she  turned  away  again. 

"  *  Just  what  does  that  mean  ? '  I  enquired .  '  If  you 
don't  care  anything  about  young  Siddons,  you're 
hardly  likely  to  care  much  about  any  of  the  rest  of  us.' 

"'No?' she  said,  tauntingly.    'No?' 

"*I  ofiFered  you  my  sympathy,'  I  began,  and  she 
turned  on  me  again. 

"'This?'  she  asked,  holding  up  the  address  I  had 
given  her.  'What's  the  good  of  this,  if  I  wanted 
help?' 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     117 

*' '  But  what  can  I  do? '  I  insisted.  *  Use  me.  Tell 
me  what  you  want  me  to  do ! ' 

"'Well,'  she  said  in  a  dry,  hard  voice  and  looking 
away  out  to  sea.  *I  suppose  you  know  what  a  girl  in 
my  position  usually  wants  of  a  single  man,  don't 
you?' 

"*But,  my  child,'  I  said,  'this  is  extraordinary!' 

"*0h,  don't  "m?/  child**  me,'  she  retorted  in  a 
pwission.     *I  thought  you  understood.' 

"Well,  I  suppose  I  had  understood  in  a  vague  sort 
of  way,  but  I  certainly  had  not  credited  her  with  any 
active  designs  of  this  sort.  And  while  I  sat  beside 
her  reflecting  upon  the  precarious  nature  of  a 
bachelor's  existence,  I  found  she  had  glanced  round 
upon  me  again,  her  expression  at  once  critical  and 
derisive.  She  saw  through  my  sentimental  interest 
in  her  affairs.  She  knew  that  at  the  first  signal  of 
danger  to  my  own  peace  and  position  I  would  sheer 
oflF,  regretfully  but  swiftly.  Of  course  she  was 
perfectly  right.  The  mere  thought  of  her  father  and 
his  mangy  lieutenant  was  suflicient.  She  had  so 
much  against  her.  It  was  horrible.  As  I  sat  there 
counting  up  the  handicaps  which  Fate  had  imposed 
upon  her  I  was  aware  of  that  critical  and  derisive 
smile  regarding  me  over  her  shoulder.  And  I  felt 
ashamed.  I  had  an  uneasy  feeling  that  she  was 
thinking  of  my  severely  paternal  manner  when  I  put 


118     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

my  arm  round  her  and  made  her  take  my  address. 
She  thought  more  of  young  Siddons,  no  doubt,  more 
even  of  Nikitos,  who  was  willing  to  marry  her  without 
knowing  her  secret,  than  she  did  of  me.  That  is  one 
of  the  penalties  of  remaining  a  super  in  the  play. 
The  leading  lady  regards  you  with  critical  derision 
or  she  doesn't  regard  you  at  all. 

"*Let  us  suppose,'  I  suggested  after  a  silence,  *that 
I  do  understand.  Then  why  do  you  turn  down 
young  Siddons?' 

"She  made  a  sound  and  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

***0h,  because  of  any  amount  of  reasons,'  she  said, 
looking  out  to  sea  again.  *A  lot  I'd  see  of  him  if  he 
knew.' 

"'Doesn't  he?  He  told  me  you  had  had  a  bad 
time.'     She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"*I  told  him  some  sort  of  tale,  just  to  pass  the 
time.  I'm  not  such  a  fool.  You  can  tell  him  if  you 
like,'  she  laughed  shortly.  'I  knew  a  girl  in  the 
oflSce  who  was  engaged.  She  told  him  one  day, 
after  making  him  promise  to  be  her  friend,  and  he 
nearly  killed  her,  and  left  her.' 

"'Young  Siddons  wouldn't  do  that,'  I  asserted. 

"'No,  he's  a  gentleman,'  she  sneered.  'He'd  sail 
away.     A  handy  profession,  a  sailor's ! ' 

"I  must  confess  that  I  was  hypocrite  enough  to  be 
shocked   at   this.     She  wasn't  far  wrong,   though. 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     119 

We  do  sail  away,  most  of  us,  whether  we  are  gentle- 
men or  not.  I  suppose  we  are  all  of  us,  at  times,  the 
victims  of  the  perplexing  discrepancy  between  ro- 
mance and  reality.  Only  I  wonder  why  it  is  so 
many  of  us  recover,  and  think  of  our  escapades  with 
a  shamefaced  grin  on  our  damaged  countenances. 
They  say  these  tremendous  emotional  experiences 
tend  to  make  us  nobler.  Why  is  it,  when  we  come  to 
analyze  ourselves  and  others  in  middle  life,  we  seem 
to  find  nothing  save  the  dried-up  residues  of  dead 
passions  and  the  dregs  of  relinquished  aspirations? 
Why  is  it  the  young  can  see  through  our  tattered 
make-ups  and  judge  us  so  unfalteringly  and  with  such 
little  mercy?  No  doubt  we  get  our  revenge,  if  we 
live  long  enough  and  are  suflSciently  rapacious  to  take 
it! 

"Yes,  I  was  shocked,  and  she  regarded  me  with 
defiant  derision  in  her  bright  dark  eyes.  She 
challenged  me.  I  needn't  tell  you  I  did  not  then  ac- 
cept. Here  was  a  woman  making  the  supreme  ap- 
peal, locked  up  in  a  castle  kept  by  a  whole  regiment 
of  ogres,  and  challenging  me  to  come  to  her  rescue. 
And,  as  she  put  it,  I  sailed  away. 

'"And  besides,'  she  broke  in  on  me  with  a  short 
laugh,  'thirty  shillings  a  week!  You  can't  keep 
house  on  that  anywhere,  as  far  as  I  know.' 

"This  shocked  me,  too,  until  I  reflected  that  this 


120     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

girl  was  not  making  sentimental  overtures,  that  she 
was  simply  explaining  her  extremely  secular  reasons 
for  rejecting  a  particular  candidate.  She  was  in  that 
mood  and  predicament.  You  can  call  it,  with  a 
certain  amount  of  truth,  a  girl's  cross-roads.  It 
certainly  seems  to  me  to  be  a  more  momentous  point 
in  a  woman's  life  than  the  accepted  and  conventional 
crisis  which  confronts  virginity.  A  man  may  suc- 
cessfully deceive  a  woman,  as  we  phrase  it  (rather 
ineptly),  and  make  not  the  smallest  impression  upon 
her  personality  or  character.  But  the  man  who 
assumes  the  abandoned  function  of  protector,  no 
matter  what  you  call  him,  is  invested  with  tre- 
mendous powers.  No  power  on  earth  can  bring 
her  back  from  the  road  on  which  he  sets  her  feet. 
She's  got  to  take  her  cue  from  him.  I  suppose  she 
knows  this,  and  when  the  time  comes  to  mark  down 
her  victim  she  brings  to  the  business  all  the  resources 
of  her  feminine  intuition  and  the  remorseless  judg- 
ment of  a  panther's  spring.  The  ruthless  reference 
to  poor  young  Siddons'  six  pounds  a  month  wages — 
thirty  shillings  a  week — illustrates  the  mood  exactly. 
Mind  you,  it  is  absurd  to  accuse  a  girl  of  being 
merely  callous  and  mercenary  when  she  talks  like 
that.  She  is  really  merciful  to  her  rejections  in  the 
long  run.  And  she  is  proceeding  on  the  very  rational 
argument  that  a  man's  value  to  a  woman  may  be 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     121 

roughly  gauged  by  the  value  the  world  sets  on  him. 
She  is  not  merely  a  greedy  little  fool.  Women  upon 
whom  such  decisions  are  forced  achieve  extraordinary 
skill  in  estimating  the  characters  of  men.  Young 
chaps  like  Siddons  simply  don't  count — they  are 
thrown  to  the  discard  at  once.  Innocence  and 
purity  of  soul  are  not  negotiable  assets  in  this  sort  of 
thing.  Even  men  with  merely  a  great  deal  of  money 
are  not  so  successful  as  one  might  imagine.  They 
fizzle  out  if  they  lack  the  character  which  the  woman 
admires.  I  have  seen  them  fizzle.  A  man  who 
roves  as  I  do,  reserving  for  himself,  as  I  have  insisted, 
the  part  of  a  super  in  the  play,  naturally  has  many 
opportunities  of  watching  the  lives  of  these  emotional 
adventurers  and  the  women  who  constitute  the  in- 
spiration of  the  adventures.  The  singularity  of  the 
present  instance  was  that,  for  the  first  time  in  my 
life,  I  was  assisting  at  the  inauguration  of  such  a 
career.  That  is  how  I  interpreted  her  enigmatic 
references  to  'something  I  would  not  approve  of.' 
And  when  I  had  got  that  far  I  could  see  it  was  useless 
to  bring  in  Siddons  any  more.  His  destiny  lay 
ahead.  I  have  no  doubt  he  achieved  it  with  chival- 
rous rectitude.  We  English  have  a  way  of  weather- 
ing the  gales  of  passion. 

"I  was  turning  these  things  over  in  my  mind  as  we 
sat  up  there  on  the  cliff  and  half  regretting,  perhaps. 


122     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

my  usual  inability  to  play  up  to  my  romantic  situa- 
tion when  she  raised  her  hand  and  pointed  out  to  sea. 
The  surface  of  the  ocean  lay  like  shimmering  satin  in 
the  hush  of  the  afternoon,  but  far  away  a  small 
black  blot,  with  a  motionless  trail  of  smoke  astern, 
moved  at  the  apex  of  a  diverging  ripple.  She 
pointed  to  it  and  looked  at  me  with  that  hard,  bright, 
radiant  smile.  It  certainly  was  significant.  This 
was  the  Osmanli,  the  little  tin-kettle  steamboat  in 
which  her  father  had  invested  his  capital,  the  humble 
beginning  of  that  vast  enterprise,  the  Anglo-Hellenic 
Development  Company.  The  actual  presence  of  that 
foriom  little  vessel  made  a  profound  diflFerence  to  our 
words.  It  was  impossible  to  deny  that  Captain 
Macedoine's  dreams  might  come  true  after  all.  His 
remarkable  countenance  might  yet  feature  in  our 
magazines  as  one  of  our  great  captains  of  industry, 
while  I,  with  old  Jack,  pursued  our  obscure  ways,  the 
victims  of  a  never-ending  regret.  The  Osmanli  came 
on,  slowly  pushing  that  immense  ripple  across  the 
opaline  floors.  Perhaps  the  giri  perceived  the 
significance  of  this.  Her  hand  dropped  to  her  lap 
but  she  continued  to  regard  me  in  a  sort  of  defiant 
silence.  There!  she  seemed  to  say,  there  lies  our 
future,  wide  as  the  sea,  glorious  as  the  afternoon  sun 
on  purple  isles  and  the  fathomless  blue  of  heavens! 
She   was    extraordinarily   lovely.     I   found   myself 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     123 

trying  to  picture  the  sort  of  man  who  would  api)ear 
later  to  fashion  her  destiny — perhaps  one  of  the 
capitalists  who  would  inevitably  be  drawn  into  the 
great  enterprise.  She  would  develop  tremendously. 
For  a  moment  I  felt  an  access  of  regret  at  my  re- 
nunciation. Too  late,  no  doubt.  But  I  have  not 
scrupled  since  to  think  of  what  might  have  been,  had 
I  not — well,  lost  my  nerve,  let  us  say,  and  preferred  to 
keep  in  the  cool,  shadowy  by-ways  of  life.  That's 
what  her  bright,  defiant  smile  really  meant,  I  believe 
now.  I  was  no  use  to  her  because  I  didn't  dare  to 
grab  her  and  take  the  consequences.  They  say 
women  nowadays  are  rebelling  against  being  pos- 
sessed. The  trouble  seems  to  be  rather  that  so 
many  men  shrink  from  the  trouble  and  the  strain  and 
responsibility  that  possession  entails.  Too  much 
civilization,  I  suppose.  We  are  afraid  of  looking 
foolish,  afraid  of  taking  a  chance.  We  sail  away. 
And  when  we  read  in  the  news  of  some  intrepid  soul 
who  does  take  a  chance,  who  snatches  a  breathless 
woman  off  her  feet  and  gallops  thundering  through  all 
our  mean  and  cowardly  conventions  and  finishes  up 
perhaps  with  a  bullet  in  his  brain,  we  shrug  and 
mutter  that  he  was  a  fool.  We  remain  safe  and  die 
in  our  beds,  but  we  have  to  suffer  in  silence  that 
bright,  critical,  derisive  smile  which  means  *Thou 
art  afraid!"* 


CHAPTER  V 

YES,  afraid!"  said  Mr.  Spenlove,  suddenly, 
after  another  long  pause,  as  though  one  of 
the  silent  and  recumbent  forms  under  the 
awning  had  contradicted  him.  "We  have 
got  so  that  no  man  dare  do  anything  off  his  own  bat, 
as  we  say.  We  hunt  in  packs.  It  makes  no  differ- 
ence whether  the  individual  man  is  a  saint  or  a 
sinner. 

"We  pull  him  down.  Our  whole  scheme  of  life  has 
been  designed  to  put  a  premium  on  the  tame  and  well- 
behaved,  on  the  careful  and  steady  householder  and 
his  hygienic  menage.  We  read  with  regret  of  dis- 
order in  various  parts  of  the  world,  and  we  despatch 
our  legions  from  our  own  immaculate  shores  to 
'restore  order.'  Punitive  expeditions  we  call  them. 
W^e  have  assumed  the  role  of  policeman  in  an  ebulli- 
ent world.  Faith,  Love,  Courage,  are  well  enough  if 
they  declare  a  dividend  and  fill  up  the  necessary 
forms.  We  are  dominated  by  the  domestic.  Women 
like  Mrs.  Evans  wield  enormous  power.  It  is  not  so 
much  that  they  have  character  as  characteristics. 

124 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     125 

They  are  the  priestesses  of  the  Temples  of  Home.  I 
used  to  watch  that  woman  on  the  voyage  to  England. 
I  was  inspired  by  a  new  and  rabid  curiosity.  I 
wanted  to  see  her  in  that  aspect  of  security  which 
had  moved  the  girl  with  such  bitterness.  Because 
Mrs.  Evans  hadn't  struck  me  as  very  safe  when  I  had 
last  seen  her,  sending  out  wireless  calls  to  me  in  her 
extremity.  She  had  been  sure  I  would  give  dear 
Jack  the  best  advice.  That,  in  her  private  mind, 
was  my  mission  on  earth — ^to  minister  to  the  needs  of 
her  and  her  angel  child.  But  she  was  safe  now.  She 
would  greet  me  in  what  for  her  was  almost  a  melting 
mood.  I  was  the  confidant  of  the  angel  child's 
imaginary  maladies.  I  was  permitted  to  be  by 
while  this  precious  being,  sitting  among  blankets 
after  her  bath,  was  fed  with  a  highly  nitrogenous 
extract  of  something  or  other  from  a  cup.  Once  I 
made  a  remark  to  the  effect  that  they  would  have  to 
get  a  fresh  nurse  when  they  got  home.  Mrs.  Evans 
bridled.  She  drew  down  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
and  remarked  that  in  future  she  would  look  after 
Babs  herself. 

"'But,'  I  said,  'if  you  could  get  a  girl  like  Miss 
Macedoine.'  IVIrs.  Evans  kept  her  gaze  on  Babs, 
who  was  staring  at  me  over  the  rim  of  the  cup  with 
her  bold,  protuberant  black  eyes  like  those  of  some 
marine  animal. 


126     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

"*No,'  she  said,  *  girls  like  that  are  too  much 
trouble.* 

"  *  You  mean — ^followers? '  I  suggested.  Mrs.  Evans 
turned  red  and  moved  slightly. 

"'She  wasn't  nice,'  she  replied,  coldly,  and  pro- 
nounced it  'neyce.* 

"*0h,'  I  said,  *I  wasn't  aware  you  knew.*  She 
got  redder. 

"*I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,'  she 
muttered.  'As  far  as  I  could  see,  she  was  very 
fortunate  in  getting  her  passage  out  free,  very 
fortunate.  She  was  not  neyce  with  Babs.  Babs 
didn't  take  to  her.     Children  know  !  * 

"'Still,'  I  said,  looking  at  the  omniscient  Babs  ly- 
ing back  in  repletion  and  trying  to  decide  upon  some 
fresh  demand,  'Still,  I  felt  sorry  for  her,  a  pretty 
creature  like  that,  at  a  dangerous  age,  you 
know  .  .  .'  I  had  to  stop,  for  Mrs.  Evans' 
usually  pale  features  were  a  dull  brick  red.  Her  head 
was  drawn  back  and  she  became  rigid  with  disap- 
proval. This  is  what  I  mean  when  I  say  such 
women  wield  enormous  power.  They  are  panoplied 
in  prejudice  and  conventional  purity.  Mrs.  Evans 
was  like  that.  She  was  safe.  She  was  a  pure 
woman.  I  looked  at  her  thin,  peaked  little  features 
as  she  replaced  the  blanket  about  the  kicking  limbs  of 
the  angel  child  and  thought  of  that  girl  with  her 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     127 

bright,  defiant,  derisive  smile  challenging  me  to  high 
adventure.  Mrs.  Evans'  function  in  life  was  not  to 
challenge  but  to  disapprove.  She  could  endure  no 
discussion  of  the  fundamentals.  She  could  read 
tales  of  passion  and  rape,  and  not  a  flicker  of  emotion 
would  cross  that  pallid  face.  But  there  must  be  no 
spoken  word.  Instinctively  she  drew  back  and  be- 
came rigid,  protecting  her  immaculate  soul  and  the 
angel  child  from  the  faintest  breath  of  reality.  In 
that  flat  bosom  raged  a  hatred,  a  horror,  of  beauty 
and  the  desire  of  it — a  conviction  that  it  was  neither 
good  nor  evil,  but  simply  strange,  foreign,  unknown, 
unsuitable;  incompatible  with  the  semi-detached 
house  on  the  Portsmouth  Road  whose  photograph 
hung  on  the  bulkhead  behind  her.  There  was  some- 
thing shocking  in  the  contrast  this  woman  presented 
to  her  environment  out  there.  Griinbaum,  living 
under  the  shadow  of  his  mountain,  claiming  from  the 
world  *  confidence  in  his  dispositions*;  Macedoine  and 
his  lieutenant  devising  fantastic  skin-games  to  be 
played  out  among  the  haunts  of  the  old  Cabirian 
gods;  Artemisia  fighting  her  own  sad  little  battle 
with  the  fates  and  steeling  her  soul  with  reckless 
resolutions;  even  old  Jack,  no  bad  prototype  of  the 
ancient  ship-masters  who  ran  their  battered  biremes 
up  on  yonder  beach  to  mend  their  storm-strained 
gear — aJl  were  more  or  less  congruous  with  this  old 


128     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

Isle  of  Ipsilon,  where  Perseus  grew  to  manhood  and 
from  whose  shores  he  set  out  on  his  journey  to  find 
Medusa.  But  not  she.  She  transcended  experience. 
To  know  her  made  one  incredulous  of  one's  own 
spiritual  adventures.  One  nursed  indelicate  and 
never-to-be-satisfied  curiosities  about  her  emotional 
divagations.  She  once  confessed,  in  a  tone  of  queru- 
lous austerity,  that  she  'lived  only  for  the  child,' 
Possibly  this  was  the  key.  Beauty  and  Love,  and 
even  Life  itself,  as  men  imderstood  them,  were  to  her 
the  shocking  but  inevitable  conditions  of  attaining  to 
an  existence  consecrated  to  her  neat  and  toy-like 
ideal.  I  am  only  explaining  how  she  impressed  me. 
As  you  say,  she  was,  and  is,  simply  a  resj>ectable 
married  woman.  But  respectable  married  women, 
when  you  live  with  them  without  being  married  to 
them,  are  sometimes  very  remarkable  manifestations 
of  human  nature. 

"Yes,  I  used  to  watch  that  woman  on  the  voyage 
home.  I  was  full  of  curiosity  about  her.  I  was  loth 
to  believe  in  a  human  being  so  insensitive  to  what  we 
usually  call  human  emotions.  There  was  difficulty 
about  getting  her  ashore  in  Algiers.  It  was  only 
when  Jack  said  she  would  get  smothered  in  coal-dust 
if  she  stayed  that  she  consented  to  go  at  all.  She  came 
back  with  a  very  poor  opinion  of  Africa.  It  appears 
that  it  was  hot  and  thev  did  not  know  at  the  caf6  how 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     129 

to  make  tea.  A  mosquito  had  had  the  effrontery  to 
bite  Babs.  I  was  informed  of  this  momentous 
adventure  after  we  had  gone  to  sea  again,  though 
Mrs.  Evans  had  been  cultivating  a  certain  evasion 
where  I  was  concerned  since  our  talk  about  Artemisia. 
She  had  sheered  off  from  me  and  tried  to  pump  Jack 
about  the  girl.  He  came  to  me,  his  bright  brown 
eyes  globular  with  the  news.  What  did  I  know,  eh? 
Missus  was  saying  she'd  heard  there  was  something 
fishy  about  the  gel.  Not  that  he'd  be  surprised.  It 
only  showed,  he  went  on,  how  particular  a  man  had 
to  be.  Gel  like  that  ought  to  be  married.  Mrs. 
Evans  was  very  particular  whom  she  had  about. 
Always  had  been.  I  knew,  of  course,  how  carefully 
she'd  been  brought  up.  A  lady.  There  was  some- 
thing about  that  gel  .  .  .  no,  he  never  could 
give  it  a  name,  but  he  didn't  like  it.  Bad  for  the  kid. 
Children  knew.  And  they  were  the  devil  for  picking 
things  up.  Here  was  Angelina,  only  the  other 
night,  getting  him  into  a  regular  pickle  because  she'd 
heard  him  say  *damn'  and  brought  it  out  plump  in 
front  of  Mrs.  Evans.  Couldn't  be  too  careful. 
Fancy  a  kid  that  age  saying  a  thing  like  that — 
'Damn  by-bye,  damn  by-bye!'  Jack's  eyes  grew 
larger  and  more  prominent.  Mrs.  Evans  had  been 
very  upset  when  he  had  remarked  irascibly  that  a 
ship  was  no  place  for  a  child  anyway.     No  more  it 


130     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

was.  'Fred* — (I  could  see  this  coming,  mind  you,  a 
week  before) — 'Fred,  my  boy,'  said  he,  'I  shall  be 
glad  when  we  get  home.  I  can  see  it  now.  It's  a 
mistake.  I  always  said  so  when  the  conunander 
brought  his  wife  along.'  It  didn't  do  to  take  a 
woman  away  from  where  she  belonged.  She  saw  too 
much,  as  well.  WTiat  did  I  think  she  said  the  other 
day?  A  fact.  'You  and  Mr.  Spenlove  don't  seem 
to  me  to  <fo  much.*  Think  of  that!  And  sometimes 
he  wondered  if  she  didn't  pay  more  attention  to  that 
infernal  pier-head  jumper,  Bloom,  than  to  her  own 
husband.  I  should  hear  him  at  the  cabin  table — 
'When  /  was  commander,  Mrs.  Evans,  I  always 
insisted  on  the  junior  oflficers  overseeing  the  routine 
of  the  ship.  When  /  was  commander,  I  made  it  a 
rule  that  engineers  should  keep  to  their  own  part  of 
the  ship.'  It  was  enough  to  make  a  man  sick,  but 
women  didn't  know  any  better.  .  .  .  Glad  to 
get  home.     Was  I  going  to  Threxford.'' 

"Well,  no,  I  didn't  go  down  to  Threxford.  I  went 
to  the  station  to  see  them  off  from  Glasgow,  though. 
Mrs.  Evans  held  up  the  angel  child  for  me  to  kiss. 
'Kiss  Mr.  Spenlove,  Babsy,  darling.'  The  youngster 
favoured  me  with  one  of  her  bold,  predatory  stares  as 
she  desisted  from  torturing  her  immense  teddy  bear 
for  a  moment.  I  had  a  sudden  and  disconcerting 
vision  of  Jack's  daughter  as  she  would  be — well. 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     131 

as  she  is  to-day,  I  expect  ...  a  robust, 
self-centred,  expensively  attired  autocrat,  ruling  her 
parents,  her  friends,  and  her  adorers  with  the  smooth 
efficiency  of  a  healthy  tigress.  Jack  once  muttered 
to  me  that  she'd  *  knock  the  men  over'  and  he 
seemed  to  take  a  certain  grim  relish  in  contemplating 
the  future  overthrow  of  the  love-sick  swains.  And  I 
saw  in  the  background  of  this  vision,  as  one  sees  a 
pale  bluish  shadow  of  a  form  in  the  background  of  a 
bright,  highly  coloured  portrait,  I  saw  Mrs.  Evans, 
shrinking  as  the  angel  child  developed,  and  cowering 
before  that  nonchalant  vampirism.  A  well-nourished 
young  cannibal,  I  figure  her,  for  such  characters  need 
human  beings  for  their  sustenance,  if  you  take  the 
trouble  to  observe  their  habits.  I  suppose  she  re- 
garded me  as  indigestible,  for  she  kissed  me  without 
rapture,  and  I  never  saw  her  again. 

"And  the  next  voyage  we  slipped  back  into  our 
usual  jog-trot  round.  Mr.  Bloom,  that  fine  flower  of 
professional  culture,  was  replaced  by  one  of  our 
skippers  who  had  lost  his  license  for  a  year  for  some 
highly  technical  reason.  Jack  was  rather  perturbed 
by  the  prospect  of  having  a  brother-captain  under 
him,  but  the  new  chief-officer  was  temporarily 
stunned  by  the  blow  fate  had  dealt  him  and  was  a 
good  fellow  anyhow.  Young  Siddons,  who  was  able 
to  carry  on  by  the  time  we  sailed,  said  he  was  a  jolly 


182     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

decent  old  sort.  Young  Siddons  and  I  had  a  good 
many  talks  together  that  voyage.  He  was  in  sore 
need,  you  know,  of  somebody  to  confide  in.  We  all 
need  that  when  we  are  in  love.  It  has  been  my  lot, 
more  than  once,  to  be  favoured  with  these  con- 
fidences. Tactless?  Oh,  no.  As  the  Evanses  said 
about  children,  these  young  hearts  know.  Yes,  we 
talked,  and  I  received  fresh  light  upon  the  mysteries 
of  passion.  As  Jack  had  said,  young  Siddons  was  the 
sort  to  take  it  hard.  His  face  grew  thinner  and 
there  was  a  new  and  austere  expression  in  his  fine 
gray  eyes.  We  say  easily,  oh,  the  young  don't  die  of 
love!  But  don't  they?  Doesn't  the  youth  we  knew 
die?  Don't  we  discover,  presently,  that  a  firmer  and 
more  durable  and  perhaps  sHghtly  less  lovable 
character  has  appeared?  So  it  seems  to  me.  Not 
that  Siddons  was  less  lovable.  But  the  gay  and 
somewhat  care-free  youth  who  had  laughed  so 
happily  on  the  voyage  out  when  the  girl  had  stopped 
for  a  while  to  chat  with  him  was  dead.  He  had  a 
memory  to  feed  on  now,  a  sombre-sweet  remi- 
niscence dashed  with  the  faint  bitterness  of  an  in- 
evitable frustration.  He  took  it  out  of  me,  so  to 
speak,  using  me  as  a  confessor,  not  of  sins,  but  of 
illusions. 

"He  enlightened  me,  moreover,  concerning  the 
mishap  which  had  befallen  him  and  thrown  him  so 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     133 

definitely  out  of  the  race.  He  had  met  M.  Nikitos 
on  his  way  up  to  keep  his  tryst.  She  was  standing  at 
the  door  above  them,  silhouetted  against  the  light, 
when  they  met  on  the  path  below.  In  darkness,  of 
course.  The  lieutenant  of  the  Anglo-Hellenic  De- 
velopment Company  had  adopted  an  extremely 
truculent  attitude.  He  did  not  allow,  he  said, 
people  from  the  ship  to  seek  interviews  in  that 
clandestine  manner.  Ordered  young  Siddons  to 
depart.  Which,  of  course,  an  Englishman  couldn't 
tolerate  from  a  beastly  dago.  Punched  his  head. 
M.  Nikitos,  familiar  with  the  terrain,  had  flung  a 
piece  of  rock,  and  young  Siddons,  stepping  back 
quickly  in  the  first  agony  of  the  blow,  had  fallen  over 
the  edge,  where  I  had  found  him.  This  was  illuminat- 
ing. It  explained  a  number  of  obscure  points  which 
had  puzzled  me.  I  wondered,  as  I  heard  it,  whether 
the  recital  of  this  feat  to  Captain  Macedoine  and  his 
daughter  had  made  any  difference  in  the  latter*s 
attitude  toward  the  victor.  She  had  not  regarded 
him  with  any  enthusiasm  when  I  had  talked  with  her 
on  the  cliff,  I  noticed.  I  wondered.  For  you  must 
be  prepared  to  hear  that  I  was  tremendously  pre- 
occupied with  thoughts  of  her  at  that  time.  That  is 
one  of  the  inestimable  privileges  of  being  a  mere 
super  in  the  play.  You  haven't  much  to  do  and  you 
can  let  your  mind  dwell  upon  the  destiny  of  the  lead- 


134     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

ing  lady.  You  can  almost  call  it  a  hobby  of  mine,  to 
dwell  upon  the  fortunes  of  the  men  and  women  who 
pass  across  the  great  stage  on  which  I  have  an 
obscure  coign  of  vantage.  Some  prefer  to  find  their 
interest  in  novels.  They  brood  in  secret  upjon  the 
erotic  exhalations  which  rise  from  the  Temple  of 
Art.  But  I  am  not  much  of  a  reader,  and  I  prefer  the 
larger  freedom  of  individual  choice. 

"And  there  was  much  in  young  Siddons  which 
helped  me  to  visualize  the  personality  which  had 
suddenly  irradiated  his  soul.  Of  course  he  was 
English,  with  all  the  disabilities  of  his  race  to  express 
emotion.  But  the  need  for  sympathy  triumphed  over 
these,  and  he  would  come  along  to  my  room  in  the 
dog-watch  when  I  learned  something  of  the  tre- 
mendous experience  which  had  befallen  him.  The 
Second  Engineer,  who  had  apparently  suffered  very 
slightly  indeed,  for  I  saw  him  in  Renfield  Street  one 
night  with  two  young  ladies  on  his  way  to  the 
theatre,  assumed  an  air  of  dry  detachment  when  he 
noticed  these  visits.  The  Chief,  I  heard  him  growl- 
ing to  the  Third  one  day  when  he  thought  I  was  out  of 
earshot,  was  nursing  the  mates  nowadays.  I  knew 
the  Second  disapproved  of  friendship  on  principle. 
His  ideal  was  to  be  more  or  less  at  loggerheads  with 
everybody.  He  would  wait  until  you  had  made 
some  ordinary  human  remark,  when  he  would  retire 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     135 

into  his  formidable  arsenal  of  facts  and  figures,  and 
returning  with  a  large  and  hard  chunk  of  informa- 
tion, throw  it  at  you  and  knock  you  down  with  it. 
His  unreasonableness  lay  in  his  failure  to  realize  that 
a  man  cannot  be  your  friend  and  your  enemy  at  the 
same  time,  that  people  are  never  grateful  for  being 
set  right.  He  had  a  dry  and  creaking  efficiency 
which  made  him  silently  detested.  I  for  one  re- 
joiced when  I  heard  indirectly,  at  a  later  period,  that 
a  widow  of  forty,  with  seven  children,  had  sued  him 
for  breach-of-promise. 

"Young  Siddons  was  unaware  of  the  Second's  dis- 
approval, and  would  slip  down  after  supper,  ready  to 
go  on  at  eight,  and  smoke  cigarettes  on  my  settee. 
You  men  know  how,  in  fine  weather,  when  you  walk 
to  and  fro  on  the  bridge,  the  empty,  dragging  hours 
induce  the  shades  of  the  past  to  come  up  and  keep 
you  company.  We  in  the  engine-room  generally 
have  enough  to  do  to  keep  away  the  crowds  of  ghosts. 
We  had  fine  weather  most  of  the  time  and  young 
Siddons  would  come  down  with  a  fresh  set  of  im- 
pressions which  he  would  try  to  explain  to  me.  He 
had  been  down  to  see  his  people  while  we  were  at 
home  and  I  imagine  the  impact  of  cheerful,  prosper- 
ous, well-bred  folk  had  done  a  lot  to  modify  his 
views.  It  was  difficult,  he  confided  one  evening,  to 
reconcile  one's  feelings  for  a  girl   with  the  grave 


136     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

problem  of  one's  'people.'  Some  chaps  had  such 
thundering  luck.  There  was  his  brother,  articled  to 
a  solicitor,  who  had  been  engaged  for  three  years  to 
a  doctor's  daughter.  They  were  just  waiting  until 
he  was  admitted.  Now,  what  luck  that  was! 
Everything  in  good  taste.  She  lived  in  the  same 
road.  He  saw  her  every  day.  Her  people  were  well 
off.  When  the  time  came  the  brother  would  have 
the  usual  wedding,  go  to  Cromer  for  a  honeymoon, 
and — start  life.  Young  Siddons  was  puzzled  by  the 
fact  that  he  himself  had  been  bowled  over  by  a  girl 
who,  he  couldn't  help  admitting,  would  not  have 
been  approved  by  the  'people'  down  in  Hereford- 
shire. He  saw  that!  I  could  perceive  in  his  air  a 
rather  amusing  amazement  that  love  was  apparently 
the  antithesis  instead  of  the  complement  of  happiness. 
Now  how  could  that  be.''  And  yet  he  admitted  he 
had  never  seen  his  brother  display  any  rapture  over 
his  love  affair  with  the  doctor's  daughter.  Took  it 
very  much  as  a  matter  of  course.  Oh,  a  very  nice 
girl,  very  nice.  But  ...  he  would  fall  silent, 
his  chin  on  his  hand,  recalling  the  memory  of 
Artemisia  as  she  had  seemed  to  him,  an  alluring  and 
unattainable  desire. 

"Yes,  it  was  interesting,  and  it  fed  my  interest  in 
her.  I  was  too  experienced,  I  suppose,  to  expect  to 
see  her  again,  but  it  amused  me  to  brood  upon  her 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     137 

destiny.  And  it  was  a  wish  to  learn  something 
about  that  strange  trio  that  took  me  up  to  Griin- 
baum's  one  afternoon  when  we  arrived,  and  I  had  the 
privilege  of  an  interview  with  the  concessionaire 
himself.  Surrounded  by  attentive  minions,  who  had 
full  *  confidence  in  his  dispositions'  he  reposed,  with 
the  urbane  placidity  of  a  corpulent  idol,  in  the  curve 
of  his  great  horseshoe  desk.  The  yellow  blinds 
were  down  over  the  tall  windows  against  the  wester- 
ing sun,  and  the  statue  with  the  arm  broken  short 
gleamed  like  old  ivory.  It  was  startling  to  see  a 
student's  sword  and  long  German  pipe  hanging 
crossed  on  the  wall  beside  that  ancient  piece  of 
statuary.  Griinbaum  confessed,  when  I  spoke  of 
them,  to  being  'largely  cosmopolitan,'  though  loyal 
of  course  to  the  Hellenic  Government  and  his 
consular  obligations  to  Great  Britain.  When  I 
made  mention  of  Macedoine,  he  frowned  heavily  and 
admitted  that  he  had  'taken  the  necessary  steps.' 
The  concessions  in  the  Saloniki  hinterland  would  be 
dealt  with  by  the  Paris  House  'with  a  view  to  safe- 
guarding our  interests.'  No  doubt  the  railroad  to 
Uskub  would  in  time  render  such  concessions  ex- 
tremely valuable.  M.  Nikitos  doubtless  obtained 
this  information  surreptitiously  from  the  official 
archives.  But  it  was  necessary  that  these  financial 
dispositions   should   be   in   the   hands  of  Western 


138     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

Europeans,  since  western  capital  was  inevitably 
attracted  to  such  enterprises.  He  himself  was  a 
man  of  western  ideas.  Educated  in  Berlin  and 
Paris,  he  had  been  trained  in  affairs  in  Lombard 
Street.  Oiu-  banking  system  was  sound  and  our 
climate  ferocious — so  he  summed  us  up  more  or  less 
adequately.  As  regards  the  future  of  M.  Macedoine 
he  could  tell  me  nothing.  No  doubt  that  gentleman 
would  be  fully  occupied  in  setting  his  new  venture  on 
its  feet.  Oh,  of  course,  these  things  occasionally 
prospered;  but  in  the  long  run,  stability  of  credit  was 
essential.  This,  M.  Macedoine,  as  far  as  could  be 
ascertained,  did  not  command. 

"  The  harsh,  guttural,  cultured  voice  rolled  on — the 
voice  of  established  authority,  of  resistless  financial 
power.  To  the  simple  and  insular  intelligences  of 
the  islanders  his  potency  must  have  seemed  god-like 
indeed.  In  this  forgotten  island  of  the  sea  he  had 
assumed  the  role  of  arbiter  of  their  humble  destinies, 
the  source  of  their  happiness,  and  the  omnipotent 
guardian  of  their  fortunes.  He  was  the  head  of 
what  is  deprecatingly  called  in  these  days  a  Servile 
State.  We  are  warned  that  democracy  is  advancing 
to  sweep  up  all  such  anachronisms  and  cast  them  into 
the  fire.  I  am  not  so  sure.  None  of  us,  who  have 
seen  the  new  liberty  stalking  through  the  old  lands 
like  a  pestilence,   are  altogether  sure.     After  all. 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     139 

there  is  something  to  be  said  for  the  theory  of  a 
Golden  Age.     .     .     . 

"The  guttural  voice  rolled  on.  The  business  of 
the  day  was  nearly  over,  and  he  spoke  in  general 
terms  of  the  tendencies  of  the  day.  It  was  a  mistake, 
he  thought,  to  assume  that  all  men  were  equal.  He 
had  not  found  it  so.  The  Anglo-Saxon  race  had  a 
genius  for  misgovemment  on  the  democratic  prin- 
ciple. He  was  not  convinced  that  this  could  be 
applied  to  Southeastern  Europe.  Democracy  was  an 
illusion  founded  on  a  misconception.  The  power 
must  be  in  one  hand.  Otherwise,  chaos.  Observe 
these  works  of  supreme  art  about  me — these  ex- 
quisite examples  of  ancient  craftsmanship — the  prod- 
ucts of  a  simple  monarchic  age.  A  man  might  be  a 
slave,  unlettered  and  unenfranchised,  yet  fashion 
works  of  imperishable  beauty.  Of  course,  the 
exponents  of  democracy  denied  this,  but  he  himself 
was  in  a  position  to  know.  He  had  studied  the  past 
glories  of  the  Cyclades.  And  he  had  failed  to 
observe  any  striking  improvement  in  human  life 
when  the  fanatics  of  liberty  assumed  command. 
Liberty!  It  was  a  phantom,  a  Lorelei,  singing  to 
foolish  idle  men,  luring  them  to  destruction.  All 
things,  all  men,  are  bound.  This  was  a  restless  age. 
He  regarded  the  future  with  some  misgiving.  We 
lacked  men  of  strong  character,  animated  by  sound 


140     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

ideals,  an  aristocracy  of  intellect,  with  financial 
control.  .  .  .  These,  of  course,  were  large  ques- 
tions.    .     .     . 

"That  is  the  memory  I  have  of  him,  the  reaction- 
ary whom  the  romantic  votaries  of  liberty  set  up 
against  a  wall  and  shot  full  of  holes  the  other  day.  I 
don't  offer  any  opinion.  I  am  only  puzzled.  I  recall 
the  man  as  I  saw  him  that  afternoon,  in  the  midst  of 
his  prosperity  and  his  life's  work,  the  embodiment  of 
a  cultured  despotism. 

"But  of  the  girl  he  could  tell  me  nothing,  and  it 
was  of  the  girl  I  wished  to  hear.  Griinbaum  would 
not  have  noticed  her.  His  own  divagations,  his 
emotional  odyssies,  his  mistresses,  would  be  dim 
memories  now,  and  he  would  not  have  noticed  her. 
And  as  young  Siddons  gradually  developed  an  air  of 
gentle  and  resigned  melancholy,  one  of  those  moods 
which  are  the  aromatic  cerements  of  a  dead  love,  I 
discovered  in  myself  an  increasingly  active  desire  to 
know  what  had  happened  to  her.  Because  I  didn't 
even  know  for  certain  whether  she  had  married  M. 
Nikitos.  And  when  we  got  home  once  more  and 
young  Siddons  bade  us  farewell  to  go  up  to  sit  for  his 
examination,  I  was  disappointed  that,  as  far  as  I 
could  see,  the  longing  I  had  to  follow  the  Macedoines 
in  their  strange  career  was  not  to  be  gratified.  But 
this  so  often  happens  in  my  life  that  I  am  grown 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     141 

resigned.  We  sailed  again,  for  Venice  this  time,  and 
I  admit  that  among  the  canals  and  palaces,  with  the 
extraordinary  moods  which  that  fair  city  evokes,  I 
fomid  my  thoughts  retiring  from  Ipsilon.  We  went 
to  Spain  to  load  that  voyage,  moreover,  and  that 
brought  its  own  sheaf  of  alien  impressions.  Loaded 
in  Cartagena,  and  in  due  course  arrived  at  our  old 
berth  in  the  Queens  Dock.  All  that  is  of  no  moment 
just  now.  What  I  was  going  to  say  was  that  I  found 
among  my  few  letters  on  arrival  an  envelope,  ad- 
dressed in  an  unfamiliar  hand  and  with  the  crest  of  a 
great  London  hotel  on  the  back.  I  opened  it  with 
only  mild  curiosity,  saw  it  was  addressed  to  'Dear 
Mr.  Chief, '  and  turning  the  page,  saw  it  was  signed 
*A.  M.' 

"Yes,  it  was  from  her.  It  was  a  short,  hurried 
scrawl  in  a  rambling  yet  firm  style,  the  down  strokes 
heavy  and  black,  half  a  dozen  lines  to  the  sheet.  She 
wanted  to  see  me.  I  turned  it  over  and  saw  the  date 
on  the  envelope  was  a  week  old.  She  wanted  to  see 
me  if  I  was  able  to  come  to  London.  I  was  to  ask  for 
Madame  Kinaitsky.  She  would  be  in  London  for 
two  or  three  weeks.  She  did  hope  I  could  come. 
She  had  found  out  from  the  Company  that  the 
Manola  was  due  soon.  And  she  was  *mine  very 
sincerely. ' 

"I  admit  I  was,  as  they  say,  intrigued.     I  had 


142     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

given  up  all  hojje  of  hearing  any  more  of  her.  And 
I  was  astonished.  She  was  in  London!  I  was  to 
ask  for  Madame  Kinaitsky.  Was  she  married  then, 
after  all?  I  told  Jack  I  had  to  go  to  London  on 
family  business,  and  took  train  that  night,  wiring  to 
her  that  I  would  see  her  next  day.  I  needed  a  spell 
from  the  ship,  anyhow. 

"I  did  not,  of  course,  put  up  at  the  immense  and 
famous  caravanserai  from  which  she  wrote.  It  was 
in  the  Strand,  however,  and  the  ancient  and  sup- 
j)osedly  very  inconvenient  hotel  which  I  usually 
patronize  when  in  the  metropolis  was,  as  we  say,  just 
off  the  Strand.  I  took  a  room  at  Mason's  Hotel, 
climbed  up  the  dusky  old  staircase,  and  had  a  bath 
and  a  sleep  after  my  night  journey  from  the  north. 
When  I  woke  it  was  a  sunny  afternoon,  in  late 
September,  the  sort  of  day  London  sometimes  gets 
after  a  summer  of  continuous  cold  rain  and  wind.  I 
lunched  and  then  I  stepped  across  the  Strand  to  call 
on  Madame  Kinaitsky.  They  say  adventures  are  to 
the  adventurous.  Yet  here  was  I,  the  least  ad- 
venturous of  mortals,  travelling  several  hundred 
miles  to  meet  an  adventuress!  I  passed  under  the 
great  arch  into  the  courtyard  where  commissionaires 
of  imperial  magnificence  were  receiving  and  des- 
patching motor  cars  that  were  like  kings'  palaces. 
One   of  these  august  beings  deigned  to  direct  me 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     143 

within.  I  sent  up  my  name — Mr.  Spenlove  to  see 
Madame  Kinaitsky  by  appointment.  I  sat  down, 
watching  the  staircase,  wondering  if  she  was  in,  if  she 
would  descend  to  see  me,  wondering  what  it  was  all 
about,  anyhow.  A  page  in  blue  and  silver  approached 
me  and  commanded  me  to  follow  him  into  the 
elevator.  We  flew  to  the  third  floor  and  we  stepped 
out  into  a  corridor  with  thick  carpets  on  the  floor  and 
dim  masterpieces  on  the  walls.  The  page  led  me 
along  and  knocked  at  one  of  the  many  doors.  I 
remember  his  small,  piping  voice  saying  *Mr.  Spen- 
love to  see  you,'  and  the  door  closing.  She  was 
before  me,  still  holding  the  door-knob  with  both 
hands  and  looking  at  me  over  her  shoulder  with  that 
bright,  derisive,  critical  smile.  An  exquisite  pose, 
girlish,  fascinating,  yet  carrying  with  it  an  adumbra- 
tion of  power. 

"'Well,'  she  said,  *are  you  surprised .f*' 

"She  took  me  into  another  room,  a  room  with 
wide  windows  and  a  great  balcony  overlooking  the 
river.  It  was  a  suite.  Beyond  I  saw  a  bedroom, 
bathroom,  dressing  rooms.  All  around  were  boxes 
with  the  lids  lying  askew,  and  bearing  the  names  of 
the  famous  modistes  of  London  and  Paris.  There 
were  hats,  and  coats,  and  lines  of  shoes,  piles  of 
silken  stuffs,  parasols  in  long  pasteboard  boxes; 
heaps  of  dresses  breaking  into  a  foam  of  white  tissue 


144     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

paper.  And  on  the  tables  were  cases  of  p>erfume, 
satin-lined  caskets  of  brushes  and  toilet  articles, 
silver  picture-frames,  gold-chain  bags,  gloves,  ciga- 
rette boxes.  As  I  stood  there  taking  this  all  in  she 
came  up  and  laughed,  holding  her  lower  lip  between 
her  teeth,  as  though  challenging  my  criticism,  and 
waiting  with  a  certain  amount  of  gallant  trepidation 
for  my  verdict.  She  was  enjoying  my  astonishment 
I  dare  say. 

"*I'm  surprised,'  I  said,  'that  you  wanted  to  see 
me.' 

"She  beckoned  me  to  pass  out  on  the  balcony 
where  were  wicker  chairs  and  tables.  We  sat  down, 
and  she  told  me,  briefly,  what  had  happened  to  her. 

"No,  there  was  no  regret  that  I  could  perceive.  *I 
had  to  get  something  to  do,'  she  remarked,  naJvely. 
Her  father  and  the  lieutenant,  M.  Nikitos,  found 
themselves  up  against  mysterious  and  unsuspected 
diflSculties.  The  boiler  of  the  Osmanli  collapsed  and 
needed  extended  repair.  The  proposal  that  she 
should  marry  M.  Nikitos  was  never  seriously  raised 
again.  *No,  she  had  never  had  any  intention  .  .  . 
that  little  shrimp!'  They  took  a  house  and  lived  a 
while  on  credit.  She  had  to  do  something.  Her 
father  lived  in  a  sort  of  trance,  dealing  with  the 
difficulties  which  beset  his  schemes  like  a  child 
playing  with  bricks  continually  falling  down.     She 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     145 

had  to  do  something,  she  reiterated,  moving  her  gold 
bracelets  to  and  fro  on  her  wrist.  And  yet  she  was 
unable  to  do  anything — at  first.  She  was  in  the 
Jardin  de  la  Tour  Blanche  when  Kinaitsky  spoke  to 
her.  He,  a  man  of  wealth,  of  the  world,  a  vigorous 
connoisseur  of  life,  was  at  that  time  emotionally  at 
large.  He  had  had  a  furious  row  with  a  Syrian 
dancer  .  .  .  so  on  and  so  forth.  And  he  under- 
stood in  a  flash.  It  was  plain  that  Artemisia  would 
develop  into  one  of  those  women  who  waste  no  time 
over  dunderheads.  When  I  said,  reasonably  enough, 
for  she  wore  a  wedding  ring,  'Then  you  are  not  really 
married?'  she  clicked  her  tongue  against  her  teeth 
and  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Oh,  she  was  practising 
on  me!  I  could  see  that.  She  thought,  I  suppose, 
that  I  was  proof  against  her;  but  how  she  would  have 
tortured  young  Siddons,  for  example,  in  love  with 
her,  young,  sensitive,  chivalrous,  full  of  faith  in  the 
nobility  of  womanhood.  Yes,  Kinaitsky  under- 
stood. He  knew  women.  Fortunate  man!  He  sent 
her  a  large  sum  of  money,  and  told  her  to  write  to 
him  when  she  was  free.  He  had  a  big  house  fronting 
the  Gulf.  She  turned  Nikitos  out  to  shift  for  himself, 
took  charge  of  the  house  he  had  taken  for  them  in  the 
Rue  Paleologue,  and  'got  through  somehow,'  as  she 
put  it.  She  was  vague  about  this  episode,  which 
was  not  surprising.     There  was  a  certain  art  in  the 


146     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

way  she  broke  off  with  *Mr.  Chief,  you  can  under- 
stand I  was  glad.  .  .  .'  and  rose  to  ring  for  tea. 
*Yes,'  she  said,  when  she  came  back,  'and  then  I 
found  myself  free  to — to  do  something.' 

"'Something,  as  you  told  me,  I  would  not  approve 
of?'  I  suggested.  She  broke  into  a  smile  and  put  her 
hand  caressingly  on  my  arm. 

'"Don't  be  cross,'  she  whispered,  sweetly.  'I've 
had  a  rotten  time,  Mr.  Chief.  You  know  every- 
thing's been  against  me  from  the  first.' 

"And  while  I  sat  there  looking  out  over  the  golden 
mist  of  the  river  and  succumbing  to  the  magic  of  her 
voice,  her  presence,  and  the  romantic  glamour  of  her 
destiny,  she  began  to  hum  an  old  air,  watchmg  me 
with  a  faint,  derisive  smile.  'Do  you  know  that 
song?'  she  asked,  and  began  to  sing  the  words. 

"'Ah!  Toncouton! 
Mo  connin  tot; 

To  semble  Morico: 
Y  'a  pas  savon 
Qui  assez  blanc 
Pour  later  to  la  peau.'" 

"'Where  did  you  hear  that?'  I  asked,  for  I  knew  it, 
a  Creole  song. 

"'My  mother,'  she  said,  quietly  and  sadly.  'Now 
do  you  understand?  I  could  never  be  like  other 
girls,  Mr.  Chief.'     And  she  began  again: 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     147 

"'Qtiand  blancs  la  yo  donne  yo  hal 
To  pas  capable  alter 
Comment  t  'a  vaillant  giahal 
Toi  qui  I  'aim£  briUer! ' " 

"* That's  me,  now,'  she  said.  'I'm  Toucouton 
after  all.  Well,  I  must  make  the  best  of  it.'  And 
she  sat  there,  musing,  with  her  hand  on  my  arm. 

"'And your  father — how  is  he.^^'  I  asked,  to  change 
the  subject,  for  I  was  moved.  An  expression  came 
into  her  face  which  reminded  me  of  him,  an  expression 
of  grave  exaltation  and  secular  raptness. 

"*0h,'  she  said,  'he  is  developing  his  properties. 
There  are  many  difficulties  he  did  not  expect.  M. 
Kinaitsky  has  promised  his  assistance.  They  are 
having  trouble  with  another  company.  And  the 
Osmanli  needs  overhauling.  They  are  talking  of 
building  a  dry-dock.' 

"The  tea  was  brought  out  on  the  balcony  by  a 
menial  in  blue  and  silver  livery  with  white  silk 
stockings,  his  beautifully  manicured  hands  arranging 
the  service  in  front  of  her.  Artemisia  did  not  reply 
for  a  moment  as  she  busied  herself  with  pouring  out 
the  tea.  She  had  put  on  a  'peignoir  of  raw  yellow 
silk  covered  with  heavy  gold  thread  embroidery,  a 
barbaric  thing  that  must  have  cost  a  hundred  pounds 
at  least.  Round  her  neck  was  a  fine  chain  of  plati- 
num holding  a  large  sapphire.     Her  soft  dark  hair 


148     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

was  fastened  with  a  massive  comb  of  silver.  On  her 
arm  were  a  dozen  bracelets  of  heavy  gold.  There 
was  no  need  to  ask  about  Kinaitsky.  Infatuated! 
She  nodded  as  much.  Very  rich.  Tobacco  estates. 
Selling  his  crop  in  London  now.  She  rose  and  came 
back  with  a  photograph  in  a  large  silver  frame. 

"Well,  he  was  an  improvement  upon  M.  Nikitos. 
Not  old  either,  as  I  had  for  some  reason  imagined. 
Forty -five,  I  suppose;  a  solid,  hook-nosed  individual 
with  the  expensive,  well-groomed  air  we  associate 
with  art-dealers.  Fine  eyes.  I  put  down  the 
picture  and  sipped  my  tea.  This  was  all  very  well, 
but  she  had  not  asked  me  to  come  and  see  her  simply 
to  show  off,  surely. 

"*And  you've  called  me  all  the  way  from  Glasgow 
to  see  some  pretty  clothes?'  I  asked.  She  looked 
hard  at  me  for  a  moment  and  then  dropped  her 
«yes  and  smiled.  She  spoke,  and  in  her  voice  there 
was  the  peculiar  bell-like  resonance  I  remarked  the 
first  time  I  heard  her  pronounce  her  name. 

"  'No,  Mr.  Chief,'  she  said,  *I  have  a  favour  to  ask. 
A  great  favour.  Will  you  do  something  for  me? 
You  did  like  me  a  little,  you  know.' 

"  *0h,  are  you  sure  of  that? '  I  enquired,  coldly,  and 
she  nodded  with  a  sudden  rapturous  vivacity.  I  dare 
say  she  was.  Very  little  of  that  nature  escapes  a 
woman  who  exists  chiefly  by  her  temperament.     I 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER      149 

had  been  sentimental  on  the  cliff  and  begged  her  to 
use  me.  Well,  I  was  still  yomig  enough  to  feel  a 
thrill  because  a  pretty  woman  appealed  to  me, 
because  I  had  been  singled  out  for  that  delicate 
honour.  I  did  what  any  of  you  would  have  done.  I 
consented.  And  then  she  told  me  hurriedly  what 
she  wanted  me  to  do.  I  was  .  .  .  yes,  this  was 
the  man.  I  understood,  eh.^^  She  had  written  him 
from  Saloniki.  No  answer.  He  did  not  know  she 
was  in  London.  She  could  not  go,  did  not  want  to 
go  for  that  matter.  It  was  all  over  for  ever.  But  it 
was  his  child.  If  I  went  to  him,  told  him  I  had  come 
from  out  there  and  had  seen  her  .  .  .  eh?  She 
wanted  him  to  take  the  child,  later,  and  bring  him 
up.  As  an  Englishman.  And  I  was  to  come  back 
and  tell  her  what  he  said. 

"And  there  I  was,  a  respectable,  sea-faring  person, 
flying  through  London  in  a  taxi-cab  on  a  wild-goose 
chase  at  the  behest  of  a  girl  who  was  rapturously  sure 
I  had  liked  her  a  little!  It  was  an  adventure  which 
disproves  the  old  proverb  again.  I  found  myself 
being  carried  northward,  along  streets  of  an  intoler- 
able meanness,  past  huge  vulgar  stores,  among 
clanging  street-cars  and  plunging  motor-buses.  I 
looked  at  the  address — 'Mr.  Florian  Kelly,  6  Kentish 
Studios,  Kentish  Town  N.  E.'  This  was  Kentish 
Town.     We  swung  round  a  comer  by  a  huge  terra- 


150     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

cotta  subway  station,  shot  up  a  drab  street,  turned 
into  a  narrow  lane,  and  stopped  opposite  a  tall  green 
wooden  wall.  I  got  out,  rather  dazed,  and  telling  the 
man  to  wait,  looked  about  for  an  entrance.  There 
was  a  door  in  the  wall  with  the  words  'Kentish 
Studios'  over  a  bell  handle.  But  the  bell  handle 
hung  slack  and  I  ventured  to  open  the  door.  Evi- 
dently the  taxi-driver  had  been  there  before,  for  he 
said:  'You'll  find  Number  Six  on  the  right,  Sir.'  I 
went  in. 

"It  was  a  long  garden  surrounded  by  high  black 
buildings  and  very  quiet.  The  wet  summer  had 
encouraged  everything  to  grow,  and  the  whole 
place  was  a  rank  green  jungle.  In  the  centre  stood  a 
statue,  a  nymph  stained  green  and  brown  with  the 
rain  pouring  through  the  foliage  overhead.  The 
rank  grasses  hung  over  the  path  and  there  was  a 
damp  smell.  I  walked  along  until  I  came  to  Number 
Six.  It  was  one  of  a  number  of  apartments  in  a  long, 
low  building  with  large  skylights  in  the  roof,  a  large 
window  and  a  transom  over  each  door.  A  fly-blown 
card  over  the  bell-push  announced  Mr.  Florian  Kelly. 
As  I  pressed  the  button  I  heard  a  shrill  laugh  from 
one  of  the  other  studios.  I  was  not  surprised  to  find 
that  the  bell  did  not  ring.  I  rapped  with  my  stick,  a 
fine  manly  voice  remarked  *0h,  damn!'  and  there 
was  a  sound  of  footsteps.     And  then  the  door  opened 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     151 

about  six  inches  and  a  young  man  with  a  keen  dark 
face  and  wearing  a  calico  overall  put  his  head  out. 

*'*Is  it  very  important?'  he  asked,  impatiently. 
*I've  got  a  model,  you  know.' 

*' '  Yes,  very  important,'  I  said.  '  I  have  a  cab 
waiting.' 

*'He  opened  the  door  and  I  went  in.  It  was  one 
large  room  with  a  little  scullery  behind,  a  studio  with 
a  four-post  bed  in  one  comer,  an  easel  in  another,  and 
a  young  woman  in  extreme  deshabille,  hastily 
covered  with  a  travelling  rug,  seated  on  a  dais  near 
the  window.  On  the  walls  were  the  usual  studies,  of 
street  scenes  mostly,  and  trees  reflected  in  still  water. 
On  the  easel  was  a  half-finished  poster  for  some 
theatrical  announcement,  a  woman  in  a  tragic  at- 
titude holding  a  knife  and  clutching  her  throat. 
Mr.  Florian  Kelly  looked  hard  at  me.     I  said: 

"'You  used  to  know  a  Miss  Macedoine,  I  believe.' 

"'Yes,  to  my  cost,'  he  retorted,  sharply.  'Miss 
Bailey,  will  you  go  and  have  your  tea?  Come  back 
in  an  hour,  say  five  sharp.'  She  stepped  down  and 
went  to  the  back  of  the  studio,  and  Mr.  Kelly  pulled 
a  green  curtain  across  behind  her.  'It's  very  in- 
convenient you  know,'  he  said,  'the  first  decent  day 
I've  had  for  weeks.  I  don't  suppose  you  realize 
what  light  means  to  an  artist.' 

" '  I  was  sent  by  Miss  Macedoine,'  I  began  and  he 


152     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

interrupted  me:  'Oh,  she's  got  you,  too,  has  she? 
Well,  look  here  my  friend,  I  don't  know  who  you  are 
or  what  particular  hold  she's  obtained  over  you,  but 
if  you  take  my  advice  you'll  get  out  while  the  getting's 
good.  And  I  can  tell  you  this  before  you  go  any 
further,  she's  had  all  the  money  she's  going  to  get 
from  me.' 

"'Well,'  I  said,  'you  needn't  get  excited  about  it. 
I  haven't  come  to  ask  you  for  money.' 

"*0h,  I'm  not  excited,'  he  responded,  grimly. 
'I'm  in  full  possesssion  of  all  my  faculties.  One 
needs  them  when  she's  round.  Where  is  she  now? 
In  the  cab  waiting  to  hear  the  result  of  the  inter- 
view?' 

"'No,'  I  said;  'she's  residing  in  Saloniki  now.* 

"'Saloniki!  Snakes!  She's  a  wonder!  T\Tiy,  I 
understood  the  money  she  had  from  me  and  some 
others  was  to  start  her  father  in  an  oil  business  in 
Egypt.  Are  you  in  the  oil  business?  Or  are  you  her 
father?' 

"'No,  only  a  friend,'  I  said. 

"*0h,  only  a  friend.  Poor  chap!  Well,  that's 
all  I  was  when  she — wait  a  bit,  will  you?  Have  a 
peg?'  And  he  brought  out  a  bottle  and  some 
glasses.  While  we  were  drinking.  Miss  Bailey  came 
out  in  her  walking  costume,  and  looking  pleasantly 
at  each  of  us  in  turn,  went  out  to  get  her  tea.     When 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     153 

the  door  closed,  Mr.  Kelly  flung  back  the  curtain  and 
sat  down  on  the  bed,  indicating  an  easy  chair. 

"'Look  here,'  said  he,  lighting  a  cigarette  and 
throwing  the  package  toward  me.  'I'm  not  grousing 
you  know.  I  tell  you  frankly,  I  was  infatuated  with 
her.  I  neglected  my  work.  I  spent  my  money.  I 
wanted  to  marry  her.  She's  that  sort.  Drives  you 
mad.  But  she  wouldn't.  Nothing  doing.  She's 
like  that.  She  makes  you  feel  like  one  of  these  old 
knights.  You  want  to  protect  her  from  the  cruel 
world.  You  want  to  fling  everything  you've  got  at 
her  feet,  lie  down  and  let  her  walk  over  you.  Well, 
take  my  advice  and  don't  do  it!' 

*'I  thought  it  as  well  to  interrupt  him  here  and 
give  him  a  more  correct  estimate  of  my  part  in  the 
affair.  He  smoked  his  cigarette  out  and  flung  it  in 
the  fireplace. 

*" Oh,' he  said.  *I  see.  Well,  all  I  can  say  is  you 
are  very  lucky.  But  you're  mistaken  about  me,  my 
friend.  I'm  not  to  be  bled.  I'm  not  grousing.  I 
don't  even  regret  the  money  she  cost  me,  though  it 
would  be  very  useful  to  me  now,  when  I'm  driven  to 
do  posters  instead  of  my  real  work.  I  believe  it  does 
a  man  good  to  go  off  his  head  sometimes  about  a 
woman.  What  I  feel  so  disgusted  about  is  the  lies 
she  told  me.  That's  one  of  her  characteristics,  you 
know.     She  really  believes  them  herself  at  the  time. 


154     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

She's  imaginative,  if  you  like.  Spins  the  most 
circumstantial  terradiddles.  For  instance,  how  do 
you  know  her  story  is  true?  Have  you  seen  .  .  . 
eh?' 

"  'No,'  I  admitted.  *  I  haven't.'  He  laughed  and 
nursed  his  knee,  rocking  to  and  fro. 

"'She's  clever!'  he  said,  smiling.  'Mind,  you're 
not  to  be  blamed  at  alL  As  far  as  I  can  gather,  you 
have  nothing  to  regret.  But  if  you  get  to  Saloniki 
again,  give  her  my  love,  and  tell  her  I'm  too  poor,  too 
busy,  and  too  wise  to  be  led  into  a  mess  like  that 
again.  I  can't  be  angry  with  her  because  I'm  so 
grateful  to  her  for  not  taking  me  at  my  word,  and 
hanging  like  a  mill-stone  on  my  neck  for  ever.  Phew ! 
The  thought  of  it  makes  me  cold  all  over!  And 
yet.  .  .  .'  And  he  held  out  his  hand  for  the 
cigarettes.  *^Isn't  she  beautiful?  Eh?  Isn't  she 
wonderful?  Man,  I  tell  you  I  used  to  feel  like  crying 
sometimes,  she  was  so  lovely!  Saloniki,  eh?  Well, 
she'll  go  far.  She  has  the  temperament  and  the 
talent.     I  wish  her  luck.' 

*"I  am  convinced,'  I  said,  'that  you  are  taking  a 
mistaken  view  of  her.  For  instance,  I  certainly 
gathered 'that  she  was  in  love  with  you  and  believes 
you  to  be.     .     .     .'    He  stood  up  suddenly. 

*"  In  love  with  me?  She  may  have  been.  I  dare- 
say she  can  convince  herself  she's  in  love  with  all  of 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     155 

us.  I  told  you  she's  imaginative.  In  love  with  me? 
Golly,  I  don't  blame  her.  I  nearly  went  out  of  my 
mind  about  her.  There  isn't  a  folly  I  didn't  commit 
for — how  long  was  it.^* — say  six  weeks.  I  shall  never 
forget  it.  But  a  man  in  my  position  can't  afford 
many  of  these  episodes.  They're  too  strenuous. 
I've  got  to  work.  If  you'll  excuse  me,  your  cab  is 
waiting  and  Miss  Bailey  will  be  back  in  a  few  miuutes. 
She  costs  me  three  shillings  an  hour.  You  see,'  he 
added,  smiling,  'she's  not  in  love  with  me!  Love! 
My  friend,  the  love  those  sort  of  women  inspire 
never  got  a  man  anywhere.  You  can't  escape  it  if 
it  comes  your  way,  it's  true.  You  can  only  trust  to 
the  good  Lord  to  let  you  off  lightly.  But  flight  is  the 
bravest  course.  You  have  to  be  very  rich  and  very 
strong  in  character  if  you  are  going  in  for  that  sort  of 
thing.  And  this  girl  especially,  because  she  does  it 
by  instinct.  She  works  on  you  and  gradually  builds 
up  in  your  mind  an  ideal  woman  who  does  duty  for 
her.  Oh,  I  know!  She's  a  wonder.  For  instance,' 
and  Mr.  Kelly  turned  to  me  and  held  his  index  finger 
against  my  breast,  'why  does  she  send  you  to  me.^* 
Is  she  in  want  of  money.''  Is  she  in  danger.'^  No. 
If  she  was,  she  knows  I  couldn't  do  anything  for  her 
if  I  would.  She's  doing  it  to  impress  you,  to  play 
up  to  the  imaginary  woman  you've  in  your  mind. 
As  for  this  idea  of  sending  a  kid  over  here  to  be 


156     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

brought  up  an  Englishman — ^phew!  She's  read 
something  like  that  in  a  book,  I'll  bet.  Well,  here's 
Miss  Bailey.  You  must  excuse  me.  If  you're  in 
London  next  month,  come  and  see  my  show  at  the 
New  Gallery.  And  Sunday  nights  at  supper.  How 
I  envy  you  going  to  the  Mediterranean.  My  dream 
.     .     .     Good-bye.' 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Spenlove,  after  a  moment  of 
silent  reflection,  "I  came  out  of  the  Kentish  Studios 
and  climbed  into  my  cab  feeling  very  much  as  though 
I  had  been  skinned.  That  terrible  young  man 
seemed  to  have  left  me  without  a  single  illusion 
about  myself.  I  have  discovered  since  that  he  is 
recognized  now  as  a  painter  of  unusual  power.  He 
IS  making  a  name.  But  to  me  he  will  always  be  the 
merciless  analyst  of  human  emotion.  He  had  the 
bitterness  of  those  who  escape  love.  He  spared 
neither  himself,  nor  me,  nor  the  girl.  He  almost 
frightened  me  with  the  accuracy  of  his  diagnosis. 
As  the  cab  sped  along  the  Tottenham  Court  Road  on 
its  way  back  to  the  Strand  I  wondered  what  he  would 
have  thought  of  Captain  Macedoine  himself,  that 
master  of  illusion  who  was  always  playing  up  to  the 
imaginary  being  one  had  in  one's  mind.  I  suppose 
creative  artists  see  through  each  other's  tricks.  An 
artist  is  one  who  imposes  upon  our  legitimate 
aspirations. 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     157 

"I  paid  off  the  cab  in  the  Strand  and  walked  into 
the  hotel.  Men  and  women  in  evening  dress  were 
alighting  for  early  theatre-dinners.  I  sent  up  my 
name  as  before.  I  had  no  very  clear  idea  what  I 
wanted  to  do.  Oh,  of  course  I  wanted  to  see  her 
again.  I  had  no  scruples.  She  was  more  interesting, 
more  her  father's  daughter,  than  ever,  to  me  now. 
As  Florian  Kelly  had  said,  she  was  a  wonder,  but  she 
could  do  me  no  harm.  She  was  an  artist,  let  us  say, 
and  as  such  I  wished  to  see  her  at  work.  Beyond 
that  there  was  another  feeling,  a  sort  of  fatherly 
affection — a  silly  notion  of  protecting  her  from  her- 
self. But  that  young  devil  of  a  painter  had  divined 
that,  too,  and  I  sat  down  to  wait,  ashamed,  amused, 
astonished.  I  recalled  the  conversations  we  had 
had  on  the  ship  and  on  the  cliff,  the  subtle  im- 
plication in  her  voice,  the  pity  she  had  inspired  in  me 
by  the  contemplation  of  her  disastrous  fate.  I  had 
put  my  arm  round  her,  given  her  my  address,  be- 
haved like  a  sentimental  old  fool.  And  all  the  time 
her  brain  had  been  working,  weighing,  comparing, 
judging  chances,  and  leading  me  on.  But  had  she 
done  so?  Oh,  women  are  wonderful!  Their  emo- 
tional imperturbability  defies  analysis.  They  weep, 
confess,  cajole,  attack,  reproach,  renounce,  and  at 
the  end  of  it  all  you  are  as  baffled  as  ever.  Their 
souls  are  like  those  extraordinary  bronze  mirrors  one 


158     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

sees  nowadays.  You  look  and  see  a  picture.  You 
go  off  in  amused  annoyance,  your  head  over  your 
shoulder,  and  see  another  picture.  And  when  you 
come  back  again  determined  to  be  fair  and  candid, 
you  see  yet  another  picture,  or  perhaps  a  mere  shining 
blank,  a  dazzling  and  expensive  enigma.  I  knew  all 
this.  I  saw  all  this;  and  yet  I  lingered.  I  was  un- 
able to  resist  the  piquant  pleasure  of  watching  the 
girl,  of  occupying  the  position  of  confidant.  I 
understood  how  the  obscure  husband  of  a  celebrated 
theatrical  star  must  feel  without  experiencing  his 
grim  regret.  And  when  the  page,  in  his  blue  and 
silver,  with  his  miraculously  brushed  hair,  and  his 
expression  of  almost  unearthly  cleanliness,  carried 
me  upward  once  more,  I  had  attained  the  right  mood 
again  for  meeting  these  adventures  in  vicarious  emo- 
tion. After  all,  for  those  of  us  to  whom  the  avenues 
of  fame,  of  wealth,  of  the  domestic  virtues  are  closed, 
there  remains  an  occasional  ramble  in  the  romantic 
bye-ways  of  life.  One  may  still  meet  young  knights 
in  shining  armour,  haughty  kings  and  queens,  and 
women  with  unfathomable  eyes  engaged  upon 
mysterious  quests.  We  can  always  run  back  to  our 
old  mother,  the  sea,  and  restore  our  souls  upon  her 
comfortable  bosom. 

"And  I  found  myself  again  in  that  palatial  apart- 
ment.    There  was  no  one  there  apparently.     The 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     159 

page  had  closed  the  door  and  left  me.  I  turned  at 
the  sound  of  a  voice  and  saw  her  standing  in  the  door- 
way of  the  next  room,  a  figure  in  pale,  shimmering 
gold,  holding  back  a  portiere  of  hea\'y  dark  blue 
velvet.  Holding  it  back  for  me  to  enter,  and  watch- 
ing me  with  the  old,  derisive,  questioning  smile. 

*'*You  have  come  back  very  quickly,'  she  said, 
going  over  to  a  lounge  and  patting  a  chair  beside  it. 

"'WTiy  did  you  send  me  to  him.?*'  I  demanded, 
good-humouredly.  She  lay  down  on  the  lounge  and 
turned  toward  me,  her  head  on  her  palm. 

"'What  did  he  say?'  she  asked,  and  in  her  voice 
was  that  peculiar  timbre  of  which  I  have  already 
spoken,  a  delicate  quality  of  tone  that  made  one 
think  of  bells  at  a  distance,  a  hint  of  fairy  lands  for- 
lorn. I  could  understand  how,  to  a  young  man  in 
love  with  her,  that  exquisite  modulation  of  tone 
would  drive  him  mad. 

"'He  was  not  sympathetic,'  I  replied.  'He 
seemed  to  jump  to  the  conclusion  you  didn't  really 
need  any  assistance  from  him.  Disclaims  any  re- 
sponsibility, in  fact.' 

"'And  you  believed  him.'''  she  murmured. 

"'He  was  very  frank,'  I  answered.  'He  spared 
neither  you  nor  himself.  He  was  good  enough  to 
warn  me  against  your  tricks.' 

"'And   you   believed   him?'    she   repeated   with 


160     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

passionate  intensity,  her  eyes  burning  bright,  her 
teeth  closing  over  the  full  red  lip.  'Men  always 
believe  another  man  about  a  woman.' 

"*No,  not  altogether,'  I  protested.  'But  he  said 
you  told  him  lies.' 

"She  lay  there  looking  at  me  for  a  while  without 
spjeaking  and  then  she  got  up  slowly,  yawned  with  a 
deliberate  gesture  of  extreme  gracefulness,  and 
shrugged  her  shoulders. 

'"And  thaCs  all  it  amounted  to!'  she  remarked 
with  a  smile  of  disdain.  'He  adored  me,  he  said. 
Never,  never  would  he  forget.  I  was  the  only  girl 
he  ever  really  loved!  He  wanted  me  to  marry  him 
and  live  in  that — that  place  you  saw.  And  when  I 
told  him  what  my  mother  was,  he  nearly  went  mad, 
and  wanted  to  kill  me  and  commit  suicide.  Did  he 
tell  3'^ou  that?' 

"'No,'  I  admitted.  'He  didn't  become  quite  so 
confidential  as  that.  But  he  accused  you  of  faith- 
lessness.' 

'"Me!  How  could  I  be  faithful  to  a  lunatic.'*  I 
had  to  run  away  from  him.     He  wasn't  safe.     .     .     .' 

'"And  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  now.''  I  en- 
quired. 'You  must  know,  my  dear,  that  I  can't 
stay  away  from  the  ship.     We  sail  in  a  week.' 

*"0h,'  she  said,  coming  up  to  me  and  putting  her 
hands  on  my  shoulders  so  that  the  warm  perfume  of 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     161 

her  body  assailed  me.  *To  be  my  friend.  A  girl  in 
my  position,  Mr.  Chief,  she  needs  to  have  a  friend. 
I  thought — well,  I  was  mistaken.  I  thought  he 
would  have  been  different,  a  clever  man  like  him. 
But  they  are  all  the  same,  all  the  same.'  And  her 
hands  dropped. 

*"I  said  I'd  be  your  friend,'  I  protested,  'but  you 
didn't  seem  to  think  me  worth  while.* 

"'Always,'  she  whispered,  regarding  me,  'never 
mind  what  happens? ' 

"'Yes!'  I  said,  putting  my  arm  round  her.  'Tell 
me  whatever  you  like.  I'll  always  believe  you.' 
She  came  close  to  me,  and  looking  down  she  whis- 
pered in  that  sweet,  resonant  voice  that  made  one 
think  of  distant  chimes,  'For  that  I  shall  always 
love  you.' " 


CHAPTER  VI 

SOFT!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Spenlove,  looking 
round  into  the  darkness  and  feeling  for  a 
fresh  cigarette.  "You  have  said  it.  I  was 
soft.  But  when  you  come  to  think  of  it, 
what  else  could  I  have  been.''  I  am  confessing  my- 
self before  you.  What  did  you  want  me  to  do? 
Invent  a  tale.''  In  which  I  play  a  noble  and  manly 
part.''  A  red-blooded  story,  as  they  say?  A  story 
in  which  I  rescue  a  virtuous  maiden  from  a  gross 
plutocrat  and  marry  her,  the  light  dying  away  on  a 
close-up  picture  of  me  bending  over  her  while  she 
holds  up  a  replica  of  Jack's  angel  child?  Why,  even 
Jack  would  not  endorse  a  yarn  like  that.  I  have  a 
very  clear  memory  of  him  suddenly  spoiling  the 
idyllic  peace  of  a  summer  afternoon  in  the  Mediter- 
ranean by  dashing  his  magazine  down  on  the  deck 
and  uttering  a  profane  objurgation  against  what  he 
called  'muck.*  We  were  sliding  blissfully  along  a 
cobalt-blue  floor,  a  floor  without  a  ripple  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  see.  And  there  wasn't  a  woman  or  a 
baby,  that  we  were  aware  of,  within  three  or  four 

162 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     163 

hundred  miles.  Peace,  perfect  peace.  And  Jack, 
instead  of  realizing  the  extreme  felicity  of  the  actual 
moment,  had  been  devouring  a  red-blooded  story  in 
which  one  of  these  dashing,  daring,  clean-cut  mer- 
chant-captains had  saved  a  beautiful  virgin  from  a 
rascally  foreigner.  There  was  a  picture  of  her 
being  saved.  Splendid !  Specially  written  for  people 
who  love  the  sea! 

"No,  I  am  confessing  myself  before  you.  Truth 
can  be  served  in  many  ways,  and  this  is  mine.  The 
fortunate  being  whose  characters  consist  of  homo- 
geneous heroism  and  are  compact  of  courage  seem  to 
elude  my  scrutiny.  And  even  when  I  meet  a  clever 
and  sensible  genius  like  Florian  Kelly,  I  cannot 
honestly  say  I  admire  him  unreservedly.  He  gets 
on.  He  succeeds.  He  arrives.  But  people  who 
arrive  with  the  convenient  punctuality  of  a  railway 
timetable  do  not  interest  me.  They  lack  the  weak- 
nesses which  make  men  fascinating  to  my  amateur 
fancy. 

"And  so  I  am  prepared  to  admit  that  she  did 
what,  in  a  previous  moment  of  softness,  I  had  asked 
her  to  do.  She  used  me.  She  used  me  to  feed  her 
craving  for  influence  over  men,  her  inherited  and 
insatiable  desire  for  building  up  romantic  and 
glamorous  memories.  Florian  Kelly  regarded 
her  efforts  with  admiring  exasperation,  regretting 


164     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

their  interference  with  his  own  designs  up)on  our 
susceptibilities.  Mrs.  Evans  had  made  a  commo- 
tion like  a  bird  defending  her  nest.  Young  Siddons 
had  been  bowled  over,  as  he  phrased  it,  and  offered 
her  something  of  no  real  value  to  an  artist — a  tender 
and  inexperienced  loyalty.  Such  women  are  episo- 
dic. Their  lives  are  a  string  of  jewels  of  varying 
value  connected  by  a  thread  of  no  value  at  all.  And 
I  confess  that  to  me  the  shame  of  being  used  by  her 
was  not  apparent.  She,  the  leading  lady,  selected 
me  for  a  slightly  higher  role  than  that  of  a  super  in 
the  play,  and  I  found  the  position  singularly  agree- 
able. I  was  aflQicted  at  the  time  with  no  rash  desire 
to  supplant  the  principal  protagonists.  It  was  a 
piquant  and  persuasive  proof  of  the  infinite  variety 
of  human  relationships  that  she  could  bring  me  to 
meet  the  wealthy  and  powerful  individual  over  whom 
she  had  cast  the  spell  of  her  radiant  personality.  I 
mean  the  gross  and  licentious  plutocrat  of  the  red- 
blooded  story.  He  came  in  as  I  was  standing,  hat  in 
hand,  ready  to  go,  and  he  heard  me  described  as  *an 
old  friend,  who  knew  her  father  years  ago.'  Which 
was  true,  though  I  was  not  sure  Captain  Macedoine 
would  have  endorsed  the  statement.  Mr.  Kinaitsky 
came  forward  with  his  hat  on,  removed  it  and  one  of 
his  gloves,  and  shook  hands  with  a  courtly  gesture. 
He  looked   older  than  his  photograph.     The  fine 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     165 

gray  hair  fluffed  out  over  the  ears,  the  bushy  brows 
shading  voluptuous  eyes,  the  swarthy  cheeks  and 
flexible  lips  gave  him  the  air  of  a  prosperous  im- 
presario. He  brought  in  with  him,  however,  an 
atmosphere  of  affairs.  He  nodded  politely  to  the 
girl's  explanation,  patted  her  gently  on  the  shoulder, 
and  passed  on  to  his  room.  Returning  for  a 
cigarette,  and  offering  me  the  box,  he  remarked  that 
he  hoped  I  would  excuse  him  as  he  was  dining  out  and 
had  to  dress  at  once.  He  had  had  a  fatiguing  day 
in  the  city.  Did  I  know  London?  A  fine  day. 
Would  I  excuse  him  once  more?  Turning  to  the 
girl,  who  was  sitting  on  the  arm  of  a  chair,  he  took 
her  chin  in  his  hand  and  favoured  her  with  a  swift, 
masculine,  appraising  glance.  She  gave  him  one  of 
her  delicious,  derisive  smiles  and  whispered  some- 
thing, her  eyes  flickering  toward  me  for  an  instant. 
He  patted  her  cheek  and  turned  away,  remarking, 
*0f  course  if  she  wished.'  He  would  not  be  in  till 
late.  'Amuse  yourself,  ma  chere,'  he  added,  and 
bowing  slightly  to  me,  went  away  to  his  bath. 

"There  was  something  odd  to  me  in  this,  but  I 
found  it  was  a  characteristic  of  his  infatuation  to  see 
as  little  of  her  as  possible.  He  never  took  her  any- 
where and  he  never  brought  any  of  his  friends  to  the 
hotels  where  they  stayed.  She  had  absolute  fre- 
dom.     He  gave  her  whatever  she  demanded.     But 


166     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

she  must  not  bother  him.  And  while  she  was  absent 
getting  a  cloak,  I  looked  around  the  room  turning 
this  imusual  idiosyncrasy  over  in  my  mind.  There 
was  a  smoking  table  in  one  comer  and  I  observed  a 
tarhush  on  the  lower  shelf.  Of  course  we  ourselves 
often  wear  a  fez  while  smoking;  but  the  sight  of  it 
gave  me  a  cue.  For  you  must  imderstand  that, 
the  normal  Anglo-Saxon  temi>erament,  there  is 
necessarily  something  disturbing  about  such  an 
attitude  toward  a  woman.  Assuming  the  infatua- 
tion. And  it  occurred  to  me  that  herein  lay  the 
source  of  an  imidentified  impression  which  he  had 
made  upon  me  as  he  stood  regarding  the  girl.  And  I 
saw  as  well  the  reason  why  she  had  harped  so  on 
needing  *a  friend.'  I  looked  at  the  tarhush,  glowing 
bright  red  among  the  cedar-wood  caskets  and — 
yes,  a  narghileh  stood  in  the  comer  behind,  the 
amber  mouth-piece  thrust  into  the  coils  of  its  own 
barbarically  decorated  tube.  This  man,  for  all 
his  suave  courtesy  and  western  polish,  would  be  the 
inheritor  of  oriental  ideas.  His  attitude  would  be 
the  attitude  of  the  pasJia  on  his  divan.  He  would  not 
understand  my  sentimental  affection  for  Artemisia, 
or  Florian  Kelly's  panic-stricken  rush  from  blind 
passion  to  a  callous,  worldly  caution.  In  short,  he 
was  equipped  precisely  as  Florian  Kelly  said  we 
ought  to  be  equipped   before  we   embark  upon  an 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     167 

episode  with  such  a  woman.  He  had  wealth  and  he 
had  wisdom,  not  only  the  wisdom  of  the  world,  but 
the  inherited  sagacity  of  orientalized  ancestors,  the 
bearded  owners  of  extensive  domestic  establish- 
ments. 

*'  Yes,  he  gave  her  absolute  freedom,  and  demanded 
only  absolute  obedience.  I  could  not  help  wondering 
how  Mrs.  Evans  would  have  regarded  such  a  proposi- 
tion, and  this  led  me  to  rejBect  that  Jack's  equipment 
was  too  primitive,  too  simple.  We  Westerners  do 
not  seem  to  prosper  in  such  enterprises.  We  are 
hampered  by  our  excessive  idealism.  Our  training 
does  not  fit  us  for  the  role  of  pasha.  We  are  unable  to 
compass  the  art  of  intelligent  infatuation.  And  I 
confess  that  at  this  close  view  of  the  understructure 
of  a  polygamous  career,  I  was  weak  enough  to  feel 
scandalized.  When  she  told  me  casually,  as  we  sat 
at  dinner,  that  Mr.  Kinaitsky  had  a  fiancee,  a  rich 
young  Jewess  in  Saloniki,  my  appetite  was  affected. 
I  felt  that  he  was,  well,  a  little  beyond  my  range. 
Any  faint  notions  I  may  have  had  of  experimenting 
in  that  direction  myself  faded  from  view.  Even  the 
position  of  friend,  of  being  a  sort  of  deputy  amant-de- 
coeur,  was  fraught  with  grave  danger  to  my  emotional 
stability.  Very  curious,  I  can  assure  you,  to  be 
suddenly  apprised  of  the  extreme  fragility  of  one's 
moral  fibre! 


168     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

"And  the  trouble  with  us  is  that  we  are  usually  un- 
able to  make  out  a  very  strong  ease  for  our  side  of  the 
question.  We  point  with  a  fine  gesture  toward  the 
severely  beautiful  figure  of  Virtue,  and  the  woman, 
following  our  instructions,  looks  and  sees  Mrs.  Evans 
and  the  angel  child.  We  point  ecstatically  to  Love, 
and  she  shrugs  her  shoulders  as  the  figure  of  young 
Siddons  emerges,  with  his  boyish  mind  choked  with 
racial  and  social  prejudices,  his  muzzy,  impossible 
idealism,  and  his  empty  purse. 

"And  mind  you,  she  was  naive  enough  or  clever 
enough  to  play  up  to  the  highest  possible  estimate  of 
such  a  situation.  When  I  asked  her  how  long  this 
was  going  to  last,  she  was  charmingly  vague  and 
[)ensive.  It  was  part  of  the  bargain,  I  suppose,  to 
furnish  the  necessary  sentiment.  And  when  I 
persisted,  and  wished  to  know  what  she  would  do 
then,  she  sighed  and  hoped  I  would  always  be  her 
friend.  Well,  she  was  right  about  that.  I  was  her 
friend  until  the  time  came,  not  so  long  after,  when 
her  need  of  friends  ceased,  when  her  homeless  and 
undisciplined  spirit  was  transported  to  a  sphere 
uncomplicated,  let  us  hope,  by  our  terrestrial  de- 
ficiencies. And  I  like  to  think  that  this  friendship  of 
ours,  unsullied  by  conventional  gallantry,  was  for  her 
a  source  of  comfort,  and  sustained  her  at  times  when 
the  flames  of  exaltation  burned  low,  and  she  was 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     169 

oppressed  by  the  shadow  of  her  destiny.  But  of 
course,  this  may  be  only  one  of  my  occidental  il- 
lusions. 

"At  the  time,  however,  it  seemed  as  though  for  me 
the  adventure  was  already  nothing  more  than  an 
intriguing  memory.  From  time  to  time  I  received 
postcards  written  from  Paris,  Munich,  Vienna, 
Buda-Pesth,  Prague,  and  Constantinople.  And 
then,  after  a  long  silence,  a  brief  letter  telling  me  that 
she  was  living  in  an  apartment,  near  the  Eshy 
Djouma,  turning  up  out  of  the  Rue  Equaiia^  but 
that  I  was  to  write  to  the  Rue  Paleologue,  and  she 
would  be  sure  to  get  it.  Her  father  was  much  pre- 
occupied with  financial  aflFairs.  She  wanted  to 
know  if  I  were  coming  to  Saloniki.  I  was  to  be  sure 
and  let  her  know. 

"Well,  there  was  nothing  inherently  impossible  in 
my  appearing  in  Saloniki.  I  had  been  there  in  the 
Manola  more  than  once  with  coal.  At  that  time, 
however,  we  were  busily  shipping  our  mineral  wealth, 
at  cut-rate  prices,  to  Italy,  and  the  voyages  alter- 
nated between  Genoa  and  Ancona,  calling  at  Tunis 
for  iron  ore  to  keep  Krupp's  gun-shops  at  Essen 
working  full  time.  All  three  places  were  too  far 
away  for  week-ending  at  Saloniki,  and  the  charter 
was  for  a  year.  I  wrote  to  her  more  than  once.  But 
I  am  no  correspondent.     I  am  unable  to  maintain  the 


170     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

to-me  unnatural  mental  contortions  of  translating  a 
mood  into  a  literary  form.  I  can  tell  you — ^yes;  but 
I  regard  with  en\'y  those  fortunate  souls  who  'pour 
themselves  out '  as  we  say,  upon  paper.  Somehow  or 
other,  I  am  not  to  be  poured  out.  And  so  our 
correspondence  did  not  flourish  with  that  tropical 
luxuriance  which  is  so  much  appreciated  by  the  world 
w^hen  we  are  dead  and  unable  to  protect  ourselves. 
But  I  did  not  forget.  I  shall  never  forget  that 
romantic  encounter,  the  sweet,  resonant  voice  coming 
across  the  rose-shaded  supf)er-table,  the  exquisite 
face  with  the  radiant  and  questing,  derisive  smile. 

"And  then,  with  the  matter-of-fact  abruptness  of 
sea-faring,  I  was  informed  that  we  were  to  proceed  to 
the  Bristol  Channel  and  load  steam  coal  for  Saloniki. 
Jack  was  concerned  at  this,  for  it  meant  a  longer 
voyage,  and  Mrs.  Evans  was  in  an  interesting  con- 
dition, as  he  put  it.  Jack  had  settled  down.  He 
was  worried,  of  course,  but  his  period  of  eccentric 
uxoriousness  was  over.  He  sighed  occasionally  for  a 
'shore  job,'  but  he  acknowledged  the  sense  of  my 
argument  that  he  would  be  a  fool  to  quit.  He  was 
already  looking  forward  to  the  distant  day  when  he 
could  retire.  Had  saved  a  couple  of  hundred 
poimds  and  put  it  into  oil  shares,  which  were  going 
up.  His  conversation  contained  less  of  Madeline  and 
more  of  possible  profits.    In  fact,  Madeline  disap- 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     171 

peared,  and  was  supplanted  by  a  sober  institution 
known  as  *the  Missus.*  He  had  forgotten  'the  gel/ 
I  imagined,  but  it  transpired  that  even  upon  him  she 
had  left  her  mark.  On  the  voyage  out,  during  a 
conversation  about  our  probable  port  of  loading,  he 
suddenly  expressed  a  curiosity  as  to  what  became  o' 
that  gel.'*  What  did  I  suppose.'*  For  I  had  not 
scrupled  to  keep  my  relations  with  Captain  Mace- 
doine's  daughter  to  myself.  I  said  I  couldn't 
imagine.  Probably  married  by  this  time.  Ah!  said 
Jack.  Best  thing,  too.  What  was  her  name  now? 
He'd  forgotten.  Ah!  Fancy  givin'  a  child  a  name 
like  that!  And  another  thing.  We'd  be  able  to 
have  a  look  at  the  Anglo-Hellenic  Development 
Company.  See  what  we'd  missed,  eh.'*  Jack  gave 
a  fat  chuckle.  Oil  for  him!  Something  that  was 
quoted  on  the  Stock  Exchange.  Six  per  cent,  and 
safe  as  houses.  Safer!  Tenants  were  so  destructive 
nowadays,  his  father-in-law  told  him.  For  the 
workhouse  master  was  an  owner  of  small  houses  in  a 
quiet  way.  A  warm  man.  Had  five  hundred  in 
these  here  oil  shares.     And  so  on. 

"No,  I  kept  my  romantic  behaviour  to  myself. 
Jack  would  not  understand  my  interest  in  'that  gel.' 
Before  we  left  Cardiff  I  had  written  to  the  Rue 
Paleologue  to  say  that  we  were  on  our  way,  and  gave 
the  probable  date  of  our  arrival.     And  while  we  were 


172     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

on  our  way  I  turned  over  in  my  mind  my  reasons  for 
writing  to  the  Rue  Paleologue.  Middle  age  demands 
reasons.  Well,  I  was  hungry  for  sensations.  In  my 
youth  I  had  a  great  ambition  to  seek  adventure. 
Fate  took  me  into  a  world  of  machine-belts,  harsh 
language,  and  industrial  dullness.  I  escaped  from 
that  into  sea-life  believing  that  I  should  find  ad- 
venture. The  greatest  mistake  imaginable!  But  I 
realized  that  it  was  not  adventure  I  really  craved 
after  all — only  sensations.  A  diOScult  case  to 
prescribe  for,  I  admit.  One  has  to  train  oneself  to 
perceive,  to  become  aware  of  their  proximity.  I 
suppose  this  really  is  what  used  to  pass  as  culture — 
the  adventures  of  one's  soul  among  the  doubtful 
masterpieces  which  throng  the  dusty  junk-shop  we 
call  the  World.  I  played  with  the  notion  that  in  the 
Rtie  Paleologue  I  might  come  upon  an  authentic 
piece. 

"I  confess,  though,  that  I  had  a  certain  diflBdence 
about  going  ashore  and  calling,  as  we  say,  in  a 
perfectly  normal  manner,  upon  Captain  Macedoine. 
I  really  felt  I  had  not  sufficient  excuse.  And  when 
we  were  able  to  go  ashore,  and  I  stepped  across  what 
is  now  satirically  known  as  the  Place  de  la  LibertSy 
I  compromised.  I  went  into  the  Odion,  a  lofty  caf6 
on  the  comer,  to  have  a  drink  and  come  to  a  decision. 
It  was  full.     At  the  far  end  a  big  burly  individual  in 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     173 

a  frock  coat  and  a  fez,  with  a  silver  star  on  his  breast, 
was  standing  on  a  chair  and  delivering  a  harangue. 
A  patriot.  Waiters  rushed  to  and  fro  bearing 
trays  loaded  with  glasses.  The  murmur  of  con- 
versation rose  and  fell  around  me.  Here  and  there 
among  the  excited  proletariat  sat  dignified  old 
gentlemen  with  drooping  moustaches  sipping  mastic, 
munching  caviar  sandwiches,  and  reading  newspapers.. 
And  while  I  was  rolling  a  cigarette  I  caught  sight,  at 
a  corner  table,  of  a  familiar  figure,  a  figure  in  a  short 
shabby  overcoat  with  a  fur  collar  and  a  fur  cap  on  his 
head,  writing  rapidly  on  a  large  sheet  of  the  cafe 
paper.  It  was  M.  Nikitos,  the  lieutenant  of  the 
Anglo-Hellenic  Development  Company.  I  had  for- 
gotten him,  to  tell  the  truth.  Artemisia  gave  me  the 
impression  that  he  had  dropped  out  of  consideration, 
I  was  mistaken,  it  appears.  He  had  not  forgotten 
me,  however.  In  due  course  he  looked  in  my  direc- 
tion, looked  again  with  attention,  and  I  saw  recogni- 
tion come  into  his  unprepossessing  features.  He 
rose  up,  gathered  together  his  writing  materials,  and 
came  over  to  my  table.  We  shook  hands.  I  in- 
vited him  to  have  a  drink,  which  he  accepted  with 
alacrity.  He  still  had  the  air  of  a  dirty  virtuoso.  He 
was  good  enough  to  say  he  remembered  me  perfectly 
in  Ipsilon,  of  the  Manola,  ah,  yes.  Well,  he  was  doing 
extremely    well,    having    taken    up    international 


174     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

journalism.  Was  employed  on  the  Phos,  of  which  I 
might  have  heard.  He  didn't  look  as  though 
international  journalism  had  done  much  for  him. 
His  long  French  boots  were  burst  at  the  sides  and  his 
linen  was  far  from  fresh.  To  my  enquiry  as  to  the 
prosperity  of  the  great  enterprise  he  raised  his  eye- 
brows and  shoulders  and  exhibited  a  pair  of  un- 
washed palms,  his  forearms  resting  on  the  marble 
table.  In  time,  in  time,  they  would  achieve  success. 
But  the  conditions  were  highly  unfavourable  to 
financial  operations.  There  was  great  political  un- 
rest. Revolution  was  in  the  air.  Eventually 
Liberty  would  be  triumphant,  which  was  glorious, 
but  in  the  meanwhile,  finance  languished.  At 
present  even  a  very  sound  scheme  for  building  a  dock 
was  hung  up  for  lack  of  adequate  support  from  re- 
sponsible capitalists. 

"*And  Captain  Macedoine — is  he  still  in  business?* 
I  asked,  casually.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  drew 
down  the  corners  of  his  lips.  Very  sad.  Confined 
to  his  apartment.  He,  M.  Nikitos,  the  only  friend 
faithful  to  him.  Deserted  by  his  daughter  even. 
But  still  planning  for  the  development  of  Macedonia. 
Colossal  brain  still  working.  Adverse  circumstances, 
aided  by  Griinbaum's  company,  preventing  success. 

"This  was  surprising.  Deserted  by  his  daughter.'' 
I  suggested  to  M.  Nikitos  that  he  must  be  under  a 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     175 

misapprehension.  He  looked  at  me  gloomily  and 
shook  his  head.  She  had  gone  oflF,  deluding  her 
father  with  a  story  of  marriage.  He  himself  knew 
how  much  there  was  in  that.  Certainly  she  had  got 
money  from  someone — but  whom?  Sooner  or  later 
he  would  discover.  He  had  his  own  interest  in  that 
afiFair.  After  he  had  done  everything  for  them 
when  they  first  came  to  Saloniki,  to  show  him  the 
door,  .  .  .  When  he  did  discover  her  and  her 
lover,  we  would  see.  Straitened  circumstances  had 
prevented  him  from  doing  anything  so  far.  But 
wait. 

"'Why,  what  would  you  do?'  I  asked,  idly.  The 
notion  of  this  penurious  little  humbug  getting  in  the 
way  of  a  serene  and  powerful  polygamist  like  Kin- 
aitsky  was  entertaining.  He  looked  down  between 
his  knees,  presenting  the  crown  of  his  greasy  tarhush 
at  my  breast  as  though  he  were  about  to  butt  me. 
He  mumbled  something.  It  was  so  preposterous  I 
pretended  I  had  misunderstood  him. 

*'*0h,  come!'  I  said.  *You  must  be  joking.  You 
can't  interfere  with  anybody  like  that.  She  has  a 
right  to  do  as  she  pleases.  Why  bother  about  her? 
I  happen  to  know  she  is  very  happy.' 

"He  looked  up  at  me  sharply,  and  pulled  his 
mouth  to  one  side  as  though  he  were  making  a  face  at 
me. 


176     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

"* Happy?'  he  echoed.  'You  know?  Then  it  is 
with  you.  ...  It  explains  all  those  English 
clothes  she  had  when  I  saw  her  at  the  White  Tower. 
She  was  in  a  box  with  the  family  who  live  next  door. 
Madame  Sarafov.  .  .  .*  He  stared  at  me  with 
his  mouth  fallen  open,  his  whole  body  motionless. 
He  gave  me  the  impression  of  a  man  perched  upon  a 
perilous  precipice,  uncertain  whether  the  next  move- 
ment would  plunge  him  to  destruction. 

"'No,'  I  said,  shaking  my  head,  'you  are  making 
a  mistake.  But  I  know.'  He  moved  slightly, 
leaning  forward. 

*"You  know  where  she  lives?'  he  muttered. 
*This  place  where  she  is  very  happy?* 

"'No,  I  can't  say  I  do,'  I  replied.  'You  can 
hardly  expect  me  to  tell  you,  either,  even  if  I  knew, 
after  what  you  said  just  now.  Of  course,'  I  went  on, 
'you  spoke  in  hyperbole,  but  it  would  be  scarcely  the 
act  of  a  gentleman  to  distress  a  woman  by  forcing 
yourself  upon  her.' 

"'Hyperbole?'  he  repeated,  staring  at  me  as 
though    fascinated.  'Gentleman     .     .     .     dis- 

tress? .  .  she  gave  the  Sarafov  girl  some  English 
clothes.  I  never  imagined  for  a  moment.  .  .  . 
Incredible  dSnouement.*  He  looked  suddenly  dis- 
couraged. 'Then  you  have  her  in  England.'  A 
gleam  of  imderstanding  came  into  his  eyes.     'You 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     177 

have  brought  her  back  here?  Well,  do  you  know 
what  she  will  do,  now  you  have  finished  with  her? 
She  will ' 

"He  stopped  as  I  put  up  my  hand.  I  said  *She  is 
not  my  mistress,  I  tell  you.'  He  brought  his  hand 
down  with  a  crash  on  the  table,  so  that  the  glasses 
jumped  and  the  ink-bottle  slipped  off  and  emptied 
itself  on  the  floor.  One  or  two  people  looked  at  him, 
but  most  of  the  excitement  centred  round  the  robust 
person  with  the  silver  star,  whose  speech  was  being 
applauded  with  a  tremendous  amount  of  guttural 
approval.  Nikitos  stood  up,  towering  over  me  in  a 
threatening  manner. 

"'Then  who  took  her  from  me?'  he  snarled,  *who 
gave  her  the  English  clothes?  You.  .  .  .'  He  sat 
down  again  and  held  up  a  menacing  finger.  *You 
think,  you  imagine,  that  the  destruction  of  my 
hopes  is  to  be  accepted  with  what  you  call 
philosophy?  Well,  yes.  ...  I  am  philoso- 
phical  '  he  stooped  without  taking  his  eyes  from 

mine  and  replaced  the  ink-bottle  on  the  table. 
*  Listen,  Monsieur.  I  am  a  pure  man.  In  my 
travels,  in  Egypt,  in  Turkey,  and  in  Europe,  I  keep 
myself — you  understand — immaculate.  Because  I 
have  here' — he  tapped  his  dark  forehead  where  the 
large  flat  black  eyebrows  were  like  symmetrical 
charcoal  smudges — *I  have  here  an  undoubted  am- 


178     CAPTAIN  MACEDOENE'S  DAUGHTER 

bition.  In  Egypt  I  was  poor — very  poor — very, 
very  poor.  Captain  Macedoine,  whom  I  met  in  my 
business,  extends  to  me  his  generosity.  To  me,  a 
poor  interpreter  in  a  firm  of  exporters,  he  ofiFers  his 
friendship.  I  confide  to  him  my  ambition,  my 
dreams.  My  mStier,  I  tell  him,  is  politics;  but  of 
what  use  without  the  financial  power?  You  compre- 
hend. Monsieur?  For  me  it  was  impossible  to 
associate  with  a  demi-vierge.  I  express  myself  to 
Captain  Macedoine  with  great  strength,  for  it  is  my 
business  in  Alexandria  to  introduce  these  ladies  to 
the  captains  and  the  passengers.  Captain  Mace- 
doine gives  me  his  entire  confidence.  He  tells  me  he 
has  a  daughter.  When  he  is  appointed  to  a  position 
in  Ipsilon  he  is  good  enough  to  obtain  for  me  also  a 
subordinate  appointment.  He  brings  his  daughter 
from  England.  We  are  aflianced.  We  come  to 
Saloniki.  I  secure  for  them  a  good  house,  most 
suitable,  in  the  Rue  Paleologue.  A\'hat  then? 
Mademoiselle  is  distrait.  She  desires  me  to  wait, 
a  month,  two,  three.  I  do  not  understand,  but  it  is 
as  Mademoiselle  wishes.  And  then  Captain  Mace- 
doine becomes  very  ill.  A  terrible  misfortune!  I 
work.  I  think.  I  sacrifice  myself.  Mademoiselle 
is  suddenly  no  longer  distrait.  She  commands  me  to 
leave  the  house — I,  Stepan  Nikitos!  You  under- 
stand. Monsieur,  that  I  have  had  much  to  bear. 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     179 

The  Osmanli,  our  vessel,  entering  the  harbour,  » 
struck  by  another  vessel,  and  sinks.  Only  her  mast 
remains  to  see  above  the  water.  I  have  to  go  to 
Constantinople  to  get  the  insurance.  Our  ac- 
cessions in  Macedonia  are  no  longer  secure.  And 
Captain  Macedoine  too  ill  to  be  informed!  I 
struggle  against  those  misfortunes.  I  am  com- 
I>elled  to  accept  a  position  on  the  Phos  to  earn  the 
rent  of  my  poor  room  and  a  little  food.  I  go  to 
Mademoiselle  and  I  find  she  is  gone.  Her  father 
receives  me  as  always,  with  affection;  but  he  grieves 
to  tell  me  his  daughter  is  married.  Well,  Monsieur, 
I  have  told  you  that,  in  Alexandria,  I  was  of  neces- 
sity a  friend  of  the  demi-vierge,  and  I  am  familiar 
with  the  significant  change  in  the  tone  of  these 
women  when  they  have  secured  a  wealthy  lover. 
When  Mademoiselle  commanded  me  to  leave  the 
house  I  was  not  deceived.  It  was  for  me  the  de- 
struction of  my  hopes  and  the  birth  of  a  resolu- 
tion.* 

*'He  held  his  finger  horizontal,  pointing  at  my 
breast,  as  though  his  resolution  was  to  take  careful 
aim  and  shoot.  'Which  nothing  can  kill,'  he  added, 
with  calmness,  and  folded  his  arms  on  the  table. 

"Now  what  struck  me  about  these  revelations  of 
M.  Nikitos,  made  across  the  sloppy  marble-topped 
table  of  the  Odeon,  was  what  I  may  call  their  pre- 


180     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

CK^cupied  sincerity.  He  conveyed  the  impression  of 
being  perfectly  sincere  and  yet  thinking  of  something 
else  at  the  same  time.  And  there  was  another 
peculiar  thing  about  it.  Although  he  addressed 
himself  to  me  with  exaggerated  directness,  I  could 
not  rid  myself  of  the  conviction  that  I  knew  no  more 
of  what  he  was  really  up  to  than  if  I  were  in  a  theatre 
watching  him  on  the  stage.  For,  remember,  all  the 
sounds,  the  cries  of  the  fanatics,  the  guttural  ebulli- 
ence of  the  burly  person  with  the  silver  star,  the 
article  for  the  PJios,  half  written  in  a  spidery  Greek 
script,  the  whole  of  the  jangling  uproar  of  the  city, 
was  within  this  man's  cognizance,  while  to  me  it  was 
a  mere  senseless  cacophony.  His  assumption  of 
lonely  despair  was  not  borne  out  by  the  subtle  air  he 
had  of  being  in  with  all  these  people  who  were 
chaflFering  among  themselves  and  applauding  the 
rhetorician  with  his  silver  star.  And  the  upshot  was 
that  I  grew  very  much  afraid  of  this  sinister,  shrunken 
figure  whose  hopes  had  been  destroyed,  and  who  was 
nursing  with  extreme  care  a  new-bom  resolution 
*  which  nothing  could  kill.'  His  singular  claim  to 
purity  only  added  to  this  alarm.  One  is  scarcely 
reassured  by  hearing  that  a  man  is  not  only  desperate 
but  immaculate.  And  I  did  what  most  of  us  would 
do  under  the  circumstances.  I  got  up  to  go.  M. 
Nikitos  gathered  his  manuscript  together,  stuffed  it 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     181 

into  his  breast  pocket  and  prepared  to  accompany 
me.     As  we  came  out  upon  the  quay  I  turned  to  him. 

"'Are  you  coming  down  to  the  ship.'*'  The 
question  seemed  to  bring  his  thoughts  to  a  stand- 
still. 

*"The  ship.'''  he  repeated.  'Oh,  no.  Monsieur. 
Why  should  I  go  down  to  the  ship?  I  will  see  you 
when  you  return.' 

"'Now  see  here,'  I  said,  touching  him  on  the 
shoulder,  'you  must  get  all  that  nonsense  out  of  your 
head  about  Miss  Macedoine.  If  she  has  treated  you 
badly  the  decent  thing  to  do  is  to  forget  it.  You 
may  not  be  the  only  one,  you  know.' 

"'Forget  it?'  he  asked,  like  an  intelligent  child, 
*how  can  one  forget  it.  Monsieur?' 

"'What  I  mean  is,  you  must  not  annoy  her  if  you 
ever  meet  her.' 

"'Annoy  her?'  he  repeated  in  the  same  tone.  'I 
shomld  not  annoy.  Our  interview,'  he  added, 
reflectively,  looking  at  his  disintegrating  boots, 
'would  not  take  up  more  than  a  few  moments. 
Very  short.  To  the  point,  as  you  say.'  And  he 
regarded  me  with  amusement. 

"I  left  him  with  a  sudden  gesture  of  impatience 
and  he  went  off  toward  the  oflSces  of  the  Phos. 
Words  broke  out  upon  him  like  a  rash:  it  was  im- 
possible to  preserve  one's  credulity  in  the  face  of 


182     CAPTAIN  MACEDOENE'S  DAUGHTER 

his  enigmatic  fluency.  Impossible  to  maintain  a 
grasp  upon  common  facts  and  homely  eventualities. 
I  walked  on  past  the  dock-buildings  and  came  to 
the  station.  And  I  wondered  where  the  Rue  Paleo- 
logue  might  be.  A  cab-driver  raised  his  whip  as  I 
halted,  and  moved  slowly  over  to  where  I  stood.  He 
did  not  seem  to  have  any  clear  ideas,  but  signified 
by  a  wealth  of  gesture  that  if  I  would  get  in  he  would 
find  out.  It  was  just  dusk  and  I  got  in.  We  gal- 
loped away  with  a  great  deal  of  whip -cracking  and 
noise  of  iron  tires  on  the  granite  sets,  past  the  Odeon 
again,  and  onward  along  the  quays.  I  reflected  upon 
the  attitude  Nikitos  had  taken  up  toward  Artemisia, 
but  I  could  arrive  at  no  opinion.  One  has  very  little 
data  for  gauging  the  mentality  of  a  highly  sophisti- 
cated but  immaculate  being.  And  I  still  retained  the 
impression  that  she,  under  the  powerful  protection  of 
Kinaitsky,  would  stand  in  very  little  danger  from  the 
annoyance  of  a  joumahst  on  thePAos.  Nevertheless, 
idealists  who  take  pride  in  their  purity  are  dangerous, 
because  they  are  incalculable.  It  is  the  only  hold 
we  have  on  most  people  in  these  days  of  extreme 
personal  liberty — the  sad  but  inexorable  fact  that 
they  are  not  immaculate.  It  captured  my  imagina- 
tion in  spite  of  my  distaste  for  the  man,  this  concep- 
tion he  had  evoked  of  himself  pursuing  his  way 
through  the  unnameable  wickedness  of  Levantine 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     183 

cities,  yet  bearing  within  an  inviolable  chastity. 
One  felt  there  was  something  formidable  in  its  mere 
existence,  like  vitriol,  something  not  quite  human, 
and  therefore  to  be  feared.  It  was  like  beholding  a 
white-robed  virgin  with  severe  features  bearing  a 
palm  amidst  the  groups  of  courtesans  who  were 
strolling  along  the  quays,  arm  in  arm,  taking  the 
air  before  engaging  in  the  business  of  the  evening. 

"There  was  a  new  twist  given  to  my  thoughts 
when  the  carriage  pulled  up  and  the  driver  spoke  to 
a  couple  of  these  girls  who  were  walking  mincingly 
along  in  their  high-heeled  shoes.  Evidently  in- 
quiring the  way.  They  regarded  me  with  friendly 
approval,  but  they  shook  their  heads  over  the  Rue 
Paleologue.  We  were  about  to  drive  on  when  one 
of  them  put  her  hand  to  her  head  with  a  gesture  of 
recollection.  She  spoke  to  the  driver — a  musical 
and  resonant  torrent  of  words.  We  drove  on,  past 
the  great  bulk  of  the  Tour  Blanche,  on  into  the  dark- 
ness. 

"For  the  road  here  left  the  quay  and  began  to  wind 
between  large  houses  embowered  in  trees.  Those  on 
the  right  faced  the  Gulf.  No  doubt  in  one  of  them 
Mr.  Kinaitsky  dwelt  with  his  wealthy  Hebrew  bride. 
To  the  left  could  be  seen  avenues  turning  off.  There 
was  a  great  glare  for  a  moment  as  we  passed  a  build- 
ing with  tall  windows—  a  factory  of  some  sort.    And 


184     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

then,  after  following  this  road  for  some  time,  we 
turned  up  one  of  the  avenues  into  deeper  darkness 
and  a  silence  broken  only  by  the  clink  of  the  harness 
and  the  soft  sound  of  hoof  and  tire  on  loam  and  leaves. 
At  the  head  of  this  road  the  carriage  stopped,  and 
the  driver  pointed  with  his  whip,  repeating  the  word 
Paleologue  to  intimate  that  we  were  there. 

"I  paid  him  and  moved  across  the  road  in  the  di- 
rection indicated,  and  found  my  foot  striking  a  hard 
sidewalk  beneath  trees.  It  was  very  dark.  Here 
and  there  a  grid  of  light  was  thrown  on  the  road  from 
a  partly  shuttered  window,  or  a  pale  glow  would 
silhouette  a  woman  sitting  in  a  doorway.  There 
were  many  houses  and  I  did  not  know  the  number 
I  wanted.  I  moved  slowly  along,  hesitating  to  ask. 
You  see,  I  was  not  sure.  And  the  language  difficulty 
troubled  me.  These  people  spoke  no  intelligible 
word  as  far  as  I  was  concerned.  But  I  was  con- 
strained to  pause  at  length,  and  seeing  some  seated 
forms,  outside  a  doorway  in  the  darkness,  I  began 
by  asking  if  this  were  really  the  Rue  Paleologue.  A 
tall  woman  rose  from  her  chair  and  said  '  Oui,  Mon- 
sieur,' and  I  found  myself  in  the  dim  light  from  a 
spacious  tiled  vestibule,  floundering  in  the  middle 
of  whispered  explanations.  Their  eyes  seemed  very 
large  in  the  darkness,  and  their  forms  tall  and  ghostly. 
Suddenly  one  of  the  girls  stepped  into  the  light  and 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     185 

I  saw  the  broad,  flat  beauty  of  the  Southern  Slav. 
She  stood  there  regarding  me,  her  hands  behind  her, 
her  chin  raised.  And  then  she  remarked  in  a  hoarse 
and  musical  tone,  *You  English?'  I  said  in  some 
surprise  that  I  was  and  asked  if  they  spoke  it.  She 
said  'Why,  sure,'  and  we  all  laughed. 

"Surprising.'^  Well,  yes,  it  was.  Because  the 
intonation  was  not  English  at  all,  but  American. 
It  was  like  reading  a  book  in  French  and  Italian 
and  coming  suddenly  upon  a  sentence  written  in 
italics,  in  one's  own  tongue.  The  very  isolation  of  it, 
adrift  in  a  waste  of  partially  intelligible  expressions, 
doubles  the  luminous  emphasis  of  it.  I  looked  at 
them  in  astonishment,  and  they  looked  at  each  other 
and  laughed  again.  And  then  they  led  the  way  into 
the  house. 

"They  were  very  much  alike.  That  is  to  say, 
they  resembled  the  portraits  of  the  same  handsome 
woman  at  the  ages  of  thirteen,  eighteen,  and  thirty- 
five.  They  were  mother  and  daughters.  And  when 
I  said  I  was  looking  for  a  Miss  Macedoine,  they  ut- 
tered exclamations. 

"  'Her  father — he  lives  in  the  next  house,'  they  said. 

*"I  have  heard,'  I  remarked,  'of  a  family  named 
— what  was  it.'^ — Sarafov.'  And  they  nodded  with 
animation.  'You  got  it,'  said  the  elder  girl.  'This 
is  mother,  Mrs.  Sarafov.     I'm  Pollyni,  and  my  sister 


186     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

here  is  Olga.  Did  Miss  Macedoine  tell  you  about 
it?' 

"*No,'  I  said,  'I  heard  in  a  round-about  way.  But 
tell  me,  where  is  she?' 

"  They  looked  at  each  other.     Mrs.  Sarafov  spoke. 

"'Are  you  the  gentleman  on  the  ship  .  .  .  ?' 
I  nodded.  *  Well,  I  guess  we  can  tell  you.  I  suppose 
you  know  how  she's  fixed.'  I  nodded  again.  *Well, 
she's  got  an  apartment  in  the  town.  If  you  like 
we'll  send  a  message  to  her,  but  she  wouldn't  be 
able  to  get  here  much  before  twelve  o'clock.  Per- 
haps you'd  better  call  to-morrow.  Afternoons  she's 
free,  you  understand.' 

"But  of  course  what  I  was  thinking  about  at 
that  particular  moment  was  the  problem  of  the  Sara- 
fovs  themselves.  It  was  simple  enough.  They  had 
emigrated  to  New  York  some  years  before,  Sarafov 
taking  his  wife  and  two  young  children  to  make  his 
fortune  in  the  Golden  Country  beyond  the  sea.  Not 
much,  according  to  our  standards,  no  doubt,  but 
a  comfortable  competence  in  Turkey  where  living 
was  so  cheap.  So  they  had  come  back  and  settled 
in  their  native  town,  in  the  Frank  Quarter,  while 
Sarafov  pere  continued  for  a  year  or  so  longer  his 
accumulation  of  dollars.  'Yes,'  said  Mrs.  Sarafov. 
*We  liked  America  all  right,  after  we  got  used  to 
their   ways,   but   this   country's  pretty  good,  too. 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     187 

And  it's  freer  here/  she  added,  reflectively.  This 
was  so  astonishing  that  I  felt  bound  to  demand  some 
explanation.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  heard  of 
any  one  fleeing  from  America  to  seek  liberty  in  the 
Sultan's  dominions.  'Why,'  said  Mrs.  Sarafov, 
'you  can't  do  a  thing  in  America  without  you  get 
soaked  for  it,  some  way.  And  the  prices!  A  dollar 
don't  go  any  distance  at  all.  My  husband,  he  says, 
"Yes,  but  you  are  handling  the  money,  though." 
That's  like  a  man!' 

"They  were  astonishing.  They  sat  there,  those 
three  extremely  handsome  females,  easy  and  un- 
corseted,  their  white  teeth  gleaming,  their  perfect 
complexions  glowing,  their  dark  eyes  and  hair  shining 
in  the  lamplight,  and  contradicted  all  the  conven- 
tional notions  I  had  ever  held  about  American  emi- 
grants. They  had  no  animus  against  America,  you 
must  remember,  but  they  possessed  something  for 
which  even  the  western  republic  cannot  supply  a 
substitute — a  traditional  love  of  the  land  of  their 
ancestors.  They  had  a  perfectly  steady  and  unsen- 
timental grip  upon  realities.  Liberty  for  them  was 
not  a  frothy  gabble  of  insincere  verbiage,  but  a  clear 
and  concrete  condition  of  body  and  soul.  I  suppose 
the  perfectly  healthy  have  no  dreams.  Their  vital- 
ity, like  the  vitality  of  so  many  of  the  people  in  these 
regions,  was  extraordinary.     It  was  like  a  radiance 


188     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

around  them.  They  seemed  independent  of  every- 
thing pecuHar  to  our  boasted  western  civilization. 
Neither  patent  medicines  nor  cosmetics  nor  muni- 
cipal enterprise  came  into  their  lives  at  all.  There 
were  no  books  in  the  house.  They  produced  figs  in 
syrup,  and  sherbet  and  cognac,  and  a  smooth  red 
wine  that  was  a  most  generous  cordial.  They  gave 
me  bread  and  raisins.  They  had  all  the  things  we 
read  of,  and  strive  to  imitate,  and  which  we  imagine 
we  buy  in  cans.  They  had  no  manners,  for  they  ate 
with  their  fingers  and  licked  them  vigorously  after- 
ward; yet  they  conveyed  the  impression  that  their 
civilization  was  older  than  the  ruined  turrets  above 
the  city.  They  sat  and  moved  with  the  poised 
rhythm  and  dignity  of  the  larger  carnivora.  The 
girls  reclined  with  an  easy  and  assured  relaxing  of 
the  limbs  upon  a  settee  of  violet  plush,  and  their 
grouping  made  me  think  instantly  of  ancient  sculp- 
tural forms.  They  were  without  that  nuance  and 
stealthy  deception  which  gives  us  such  a  feeling  of 
manly  superiority  over  our  own  women,  and  without 
which  masculine  humour  would  die  out.  Perhaps 
it  was  because,  not  only  did  they  dispense  with  what 
are  called  breakfast  foods,  but  with  breakfast  itself, 
that  they  could  sit  there  in  the  merciless  glare  of  an 
unshaded  kerosene  lamp  and  defy  one  with  their 
flawless   and   amiable   personalities.    And   while   I 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     189 

sat  there  and  talked  to  them  and  ate  their  bizarre 
and  appetizing  provender,  I  became  aware  of  some- 
thing even  more  astonishing  than  their  failure  to  use 
the  immeasurable  advantages  of  existence  in  a 
Brooklyn  apartment,  where  the  breath  of  life, 
warmed  beyond  endurance,  came  up  out  of  mysteri- 
ous grids  in  the  walls  and  dried  all  the  vitality  out 
of  them.  It  wasn't  only  that,  it  transpired.  These 
women,  with  their  quality  of  hard,  practical  devotion 
to  a  concrete  bodily  well-being,  conveyed  something 
beyond  all  that.  For  when  I  suggested  that  Ar- 
temisia's way  of  life  must  place  her  beyond  their  sym- 
pathies, they  registered  emphatic  dissent.  For  why? 
They  were  unable  to  understand.  They  looked  at 
each  other. 

"'That's  American,'  said  Mrs.  Sarafov,  distinctly. 

"'Not  entirely,'  I  protested.  *It  has  a  certain 
vogue  in  England  also,  I  assure  you.  And  person- 
ally, '  I  added,  '  I  am  bound  to  say  it  makes  a  differ- 
ence.    I  regret  it.' 

"'But,'  said  Mrs.  Sarafov,  and  she  turned  her  eyes 
upon  her  younger  daughter,  who  was  going  out  with 
some  dishes,  'But  she  must  have  a  man  to  look  after 
her.'  She  regarded  me  attentively.  'I  suppose  you 
know  that  she  is  very  fond  of  you.  She  is  always 
talking  about  how  kind  you  were  to  her  on  the  ship. 
And  in  London.     She  says  you  liked  her  at  first. 


IdO     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

And  I  can't  see,*  she  went  on,  *why,  if  you  regret  it, 
as  you  say,  you  didn't  look  after  her  yourself.  She 
would  have  gone.* 

"*And  you  think  that  would  have  made  any  dif- 
ference?' I  demanded.  I  was  very  much  disturbed 
at  this  sudden  turn  of  things.  I  seemed  to  be  get- 
ting away  from  my  cherished  position  as  a  super  in 
the  play.  And  it  was  the  emotion  educed  from  this 
conversation  that  revealed  to  me  how  these  women 
had  abandoned  their  life  in  America  without  regret. 
I  had  a  vision  of  it  suddenly  as  I  looked  at  the  other 
daughter's  face.  She  was  regarding  me  with  a  sort 
of  raptness.  The  exquisite  features  glowed  and  the 
bright,  bronze-coloured  eyes  btuned  above  purple 
shadows  like  lamps  above  dark  pools.  Yes,  I  had  a 
vision  of  it  suddenly,  and  it  was  what  we  call,  lightly, 
cynically,  disapprovingly,  Romance.  It  was  simply 
this — that  to  them,  what  we  deem  a  dangerous  and 
useless  appendage  of  our  spiritual  life  is  a  tremendous 
and  vital  need.  So  tremendous  and  so  vital  that 
the  external  moral  aspect  of  it  was  a  matter  of  little 
importance.  To  put  the  case  in  point,  they  were 
interested  in  me  not  because  I  was  a  moral  English- 
man but  because  Artemisia  was  fond  of  me.  It  was 
for  them  as  simple  as  breathing  to  go  with  the  being 
one  loved.  And  back  of  that  there  was  another  thing, 
which  scared  the  modern  and  moral  being  within 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     191 

me  still  more.  It  followed,  from  their  perfectly 
naive  and  innocent  faith  in  Romance,  that  a  woman 
was  not  a  political  equal  of  man,  a  strenuous  co- 
educated,  enfranchised  voter,  but  a  possession.  The 
crown  of  her  achievement  was  to  be  possessed  by 
the  man  she  loved.  He  might  kill  her  or  enslave 
her,  but  without  men  she  was  of  no  importance  what- 
ever. And  I  suspected  that  my  own  attitude  which, 
mind  you,  is  the  attitude  of  most  of  us,  to  draw  away 
at  the  approach  of  a  compromising  emotion,  was 
diflBcult  to  comprehend.  Especially  when,  in  re- 
sponse to  the  inevitable  question,  I  said  I  wasn't 
married  or  promised.  They  harped  on  it,  those  two, 
while  the  younger  girl  was  in  the  kitchen.  It  was 
evident  Artemisia  had  confided  a  great  deal  to  them 
and  they  had  talked  and  talked,  turning  this  peculiar 
problem  over  in  their  minds,  the  problem  of  a  man 
who  persisted  in  remaining  a  super  in  the  play. 
Barbarous  of  them.''  Well,  let  us  say  mediaeval. 
They  lived  in  a  world  of  harsh  limitations  and  ex- 
traordinary latitudes.  They  were  forbidden  divorce 
and  were  accustomed  to  neighbours  with  a  plurality 
of  wives.  They  seemed  to  know  nothing  of  the  re- 
finements of  modern  passion.  For  them  it  was  a 
question  of  sex,  without  any  admixture  of  social  or 
racial  distinctions.  That  Artemisia  had  had  a  lover 
in  England  was  not  a  matter  of  amazement  to  them 


192     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

at  all.  What  they  couldn't  understand  was  the 
reason  why  everything  had  to  be  driven  underground. 
And  the  extremely  bourgeois  conception  of  love  cul- 
minating in  a  colourless  civil  contract  between  a  good 
provider  and  a  capable  housekeeper,  which  was  all 
they  could  see  in  American  institutions — a  civil 
contract  which  could  apparently  be  shot  to  pieces 
upon  any  frivolous  pretext,  struck  their  mediaeval 
minds  as  profoundly  irreligious  and  unpleasant. 

"And  then,"  said  Mr.  Spenlove,  suddenly  turning 
and  savagely  addressing  the  silent  and  recumbent 
forms  in  the  darkness  of  the  awning,  "I  made  an- 
other astonishing  discovery.  They  respected  Cap- 
tain Macedoine.  A  nice  old  gentleman!  They 
thought  he  was  fine!  I  give  you  my  word,  when 
they  told  me  that,  and  proposed  that  we  go  right  in 
and  see  him,  I  obtained  a  glimmer  of  what  Nietzsche 
must  have  meant  when  he  spoke  of  the  transvalua- 
tion  of  all  values.  I  was  startled  by  the  sudden  reali- 
zation of  how  tenaciously  I  had  been  holding  to  my 
belief  in  that  man's  essential  unworthiness.  You 
regard  a  man  for  years  as  despicable  and  rotten, 
judging  him  as  though  you  were  God,  and  then  you 
meet  a  woman  who  worships  the  very  ground  he 
treads  on,  or  a  child  to  whom  he  is  a  fanatically 
fond  parent.  Of  course,  the  enthusiasm  of  Monsieur 
Nikitos  for  his  patron  was  discounted  for  by  my 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     193 

low  estimate  of  Nikitos  himself.  Possibly,  I  mused 
in  a  startled  way,  as  we  entered  the  dark  ante-room 
of  Captain  Macedoine's  abode,  M.  Nikitos  was  re- 
garded by  a  septuagenarian  mother  as  an  angel  of 
light.  The  possibility  remains  in  suspense,  for  of  that 
gentleman's  antecedents  I  don't  recall  any  particu- 
lars. I  saw  him  again,  as  you  shall  hear,  but  he  failed 
to  prepossess  me  in  his  favour.  He  departed  from 
my  view,  a  perplexing  and  polysyllabic  problem, 
claiming  for  himself  a  useless  and  preposterous 
purity.  But  perhaps  it  was  not  so  useless  from  his 
point  of  view.  Perhaps  he  owed  his  brief  political 
omnipotence,  when  the  whole  country  flamed  into 
battle,  murder,  and  sudden  death,  to  his  peculiar 
mania  for  a  spectacular  chastity.  They  say  men 
fear  such  freaks,  and  deem  them  endowed  with  sin- 
ister supernatural  powers.  Possibly.  There  are 
strange  things  embedded  in  that  fierce  lava-flow  of 
the  Balkan  volcanoes,  congealed  agonies  and  solidi- 
fied monstrosities  of  soul. 

"At  first  I  could  see  nothing  save  that  the  chamber 
was  large  and  lofty.  Even  at  the  moment  it  struck 
me — a  sort  of  last  attempt  at  superiority,  you  know 
— that  it  would  be  just  like  Captain  Macedoine  to  live 
in  a  large  and  lofty  chamber  without  much  light. 
And  then,  as  I  saw  him,  propped  up  among  cushions 
on  an  immense  bed,  with  a  table  close  at  hand  on 


1Q4     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

which  reposed  writing  materials,  books,  a  photograph, 
and  a  small  shaded  lamp,  I  wondered  why  the  char- 
acteristics which  in  him  had  created  such  animosity 
should  take  the  form  of  an  alluring  hypnotism  in  his 
daughter.  Such  thoughts  make  one  uneasy  and 
anxious  for  one's  position  as  a  super  in  the  play. 
For  that  was  the  upshot  of  it,  that  I  was  shakily 
anxious  to  see  her  again,  to  see  Captain  Macedoine 
because  he  was  her  father,  to  drift,  I  knew  not  where. 
I  was  a  pretty  spectacle  to  myself,  I  can  assure  you! 
"His  illness  had  emaciated  him,  and  the  crimson 
bedspread,  together  with  the  long,  drooping  folds  of 
the  looped-up  mosquito-bar,  like  the  curtains  of 
a  catafalque,  and  a  round  cap  he  wore  to  cover  his 
bald  spot,  gave  him  the  air  of  some  old  pope  holding 
an  audience.  He  raised  his  eyes  without  lifting  his 
head,  and  smiled  as  Madame  Sarafov  and  her 
daughter,  with  measured  strides  that  reminded  one 
again  of  the  larger  camivora,  moved  forward  to 
the  bedside.  And  he  lifted  his  hand  in  a  decidedly 
pontifical  fashion,  as  though  to  bless  them.  I  re- 
mained for  a  moment  in  the  shadow  before  they 
turned  and  explained  who  I  was;  and  the  pale  blue 
eyes,  without  any  recognition,  beamed  upon  me  as 
upwn  a  new  and  promising  adherent  to  the  faith. 
He  was  immensely  improved,  though  very  much 
nearer  the  grave  than  when  I  had  seen  him  for  that 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     195 

dubious  moment  through  the  window  of  his  house  in 
Ipsilon.  The  harsh  ravages  of  a  life  of  distorted 
ideals  had  been  softened  by  illness  to  an  ascetic 
benignity.  And  he  talked.  I  was  obliged  to  admit 
to  myself  that  so  far  I  had  never  seen  him  in  private 
life.  He  talked  and  he  was  full  of  reminiscence.  He 
had  a  musical  tenor  voice,  and  he  spoke  rapidly  and 
with  an  unconcerned  change  from  subject  to  subject 
which  might  be  set  down  to  garrulity.  He  gazed 
into  the  shadows  as  he  talked  and  I  listened,  very 
much  astonished.  For  it  was  not  the  talk  of  a 
wicked  man  or  an  unhappy  man  or  even  an  unsuccess- 
ful man.  It  was  rather  the  talk  of  an  intelligent 
humbug,  such  as  one  might  expect  from  the  suj>er- 
annuated  and  senile  secretary  of  some  rich  and 
fantastic  scientific  society.  He  gave  one  that  impres- 
sion, that  his  whole  life  had  been  one  of  gentle  dil- 
letantism  under  the  protecting  shadow  of  giant 
vested  interests.  It  was  an  astonishingly  pictur- 
esque scene,  the  sort  of  genre  picture  the  Victorians 
did  so  well  and  for  which  we  moderns  have  so  pro- 
found a  contempt.  It  might  have  been  called  *The 
Old  Professor  Tells  His  Story.'  It  flowed  from  him. 
He  had  a  fund  of  phrases,  quite  common  no  doubt, 
but  which  he  used  as  though  he  had  invented  them 
himself.  His  long,  rose-tinted,  transparent  nostrils 
moved  at  times.    His  hands  lay  on  the  bedspread, 


196     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

singularly  small  and  chunky  for  so  large  a  being, 
and  he  often  withdrew  his  gaze  suddenly  from  the 
shadows  of  the  past  and  examined  his  knuckles  with 
a  sharp  scrutiny  that,  I  suppose,  was  merely  a  habit 
born  of  an  unconscious  reflex  action,  but  gave  one  a 
notion  that  at  times  he  began  to  doubt  his  own  reality. 
"And  then,"  said  Mr.  Spenlove  after  a  pause,  "I 
discovered  that  Captain  Macedoine  belonged  to'that 
class  of  raconteurs  who  do  not  believe  in  reticence 
on  personal  matters.  I  have  very  little  of  that  sort 
of  squeamishness  myself,  but  he  was  much  more 
confidential.  If  confidential  is  the  word.  Because 
there  was  no  atmosphere  of  confession  about  his 
story.  He  frequently  interjected  the  words,  *you 
know,'  and  it  really  seemed  as  if  he  assumed  that  we 
did  know,  and  was  just  amusing  himself.  Or  j>er- 
haps  he  was  rehearsing  for  the  day  of  judgment.  No 
matter.  He  ran  on.  And  we  listened.  We  were 
interrupted  once,  when  an  elderly  person,  'My 
housekeepah,'  as  he  called  her,  'Madame  Petronita,* 
came  in  with  some  sustaining  liquid  in  a  basin.  And 
if  you  ask  me  what  he  talked  about,  I  should  say 
that  he  furnished  us  with  a  large  number  of  details 
of  his  private  life  which  the  majority  of  us  never 
mention  even  though  we  may  not  be  ashamed  of 
them.  At  this  distance  of  time  it  presents  to  me  the 
sort  of  memory  which  one  retains  of  an  interesting 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     197 

book  read  long  ago.  I  remember  him,  you  see, 
because  of  what  happened  afterward,  because  he  was 
the  father  of  this  girl  of  whom  I  am  telling  you,  and 
I  recall  the  picture  of  him  dispensing  those  amiable 
garrulities  because  it  was  as  we  sat  there  that  the 
notion  first  came  to  me  that  he  was  really  an  original 
artist  working  upon  himself  and  concealing  himself 
behind  the  grandiose  presentment  of  an  impossibly 
superior  and  effulgent  human  being.  All  I  had 
known  of  him  or  heard  of  him  in  the  old  days  corrobo- 
rated this  notion  of  mine.  *We  are  a  very  old 
family,  you  know — I  was  a  younger  son,  you  know — 
I  was  at  Charterhouse  School,  you  know — we  were 
very  poor — a  scholarship  boy,  you  know.'  This 
was  addressed  to  a  certain  extent  to  me,  as  an  Eng- 
lishman, of  course,  but  the  glamour  of  his  rich  intona- 
tion enveloped  those  two  beautiful  women,  mother 
and  daughter,  sitting  there  with  their  perfect  parted 
lips  and  their  extraordinarily  seductive  Slavonic 
eyes.  It  would  be  interesting,  no  doubt,  to  know  just 
what  they  imagined  lay  in  the  portentous  statement 
that  Captain  Macedoine  had  been  sent  as  a  poor  boy 
—a  day  boy,  he  informed  us  meticulously — to  that 
ancient  foundation  known  as  the  Charterhouse — 
they  with  their  oriental  antecedents,  their  untram- 
melled comprehension  of  the  romantic  value  of  life, 
and  their  initiation  into  western  ways  in  a  Brooklyn 


198     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

apartment.  Yet  I'm  not  sure  that  deep  did  not 
call  into  deep,  that  they  did  not  succeed  in  getting 
hold  of  his  real  meaning  after  all.  As  Mrs.  Sarafov 
said  to  me  afterward  in  the  intense  darkness  of  the 
street,  *  Captain  Macedoine,  he  goes  'way  back,  I 
guess';  and  there  was  a  peculiar  inflection  in  her  tone 
which  brought  to  mind  echoing  corridors  in  the  house 
of  life. 

"Yes,  he  was  a  younger  son  and  he  went  out  into 
an  unsympathetic  world  as  a  'secretary'.  Became 
a  land-steward  on  great  estates,  secretary  to  a 
London  club,  which  fell  on  evil  days,  and  was — in 
short — shut  up.  Travelled  for  a  while.  I  like  that. 
It  gave  the  obliging  human  imagination  such  scope 
in  which  to  devise  a  romantic  and  Byronic  pilgrimage 
for  him.  Accepted  a  post  as  purser  on  a  grand 
duke's  yacht.  He  began  to  move  in  exalted  circles. 
Grand  duchesses,  princesses  of  principalities,  ec- 
centric millionaires,  oriental  potentates,  and  English 
nobles  with  Mediterranean  villas  came  upon  the 
stage  and  performed  various  evolutions  which 
brought  them  into  touch  with  the  Grand  Duke's 
purser.  He  was  thanked  for  his  services  on  one  oc- 
casion by  a  fat,  pop-eyed  voluptuary  who  has  become 
famous  in  history  for  scientific  and  cold-blooded 
political  murders.  Was  offered  a  cigarette  from 
the  Imperial  case  which  he  accepted  of  course,  but 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     199 

did  not  venture  to  smoke.  Indeed,  murmured 
Captain  Macedoine  with  a  faint  smile,  he  had  it  still. 
*My  dear,'  he  addressed  the  girl  PoUyni,  'if  you  will 
bring  me  the  bag  in  the  top  drawer  over  there.  .  .  .* 
She  came  back  into  the  circle  of  light  bearing  a 
small  black  bag  of  formidably  heavy  leather,  the 
handle-straps  sewn  right  round  the  body  of  it  and 
the  bronze  hasp  fitted  with  a  massive  brass  padlock. 
It  was  a  bag  to  inspire  awe;  and  yet  it  made  me  smile. 
On  one  side  the  thick  leather  had  been  carefully  pared 
away  in  three  places.  You  see,  I  recognized  that  bag 
at  once  as  one  of  the  specie  carriers  of  the  Maracaibo 
Steamship  Company,  whose  initials  M.  S.  C.  had 
been  removed.  It  reminded  me  that  after  all  I 
had  known  this  personality,  in  the  making,  when  he 
had  not  yet  realized  all  his  magnificent  possibilities. 
In  those  days  the  furtive  theft  of  a  leather  bag  was 
all  in  the  day's  work.  But  when  I  looked  at  him 
again  I  was  almost  afraid  to  believe  my  own  memories 
and  conclusions.  He  held  the  bag  before  him,  his 
small  chunky  hands  gathered  together  on  the  handles, 
and  gazed  into  the  shadows  with  an  expression  of 
gentle  and  refined  melancholy  upon  his  face,  as 
though  he  knew  there  might  be  nothing  in  the  bag 
after  all. 

"But  there  was.     There  were  things  in  that  bag 
I  couldn't  have  believed  existed  out  of  a  museum 


200     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

or  a  grand-opera  property-room.  There  were  his 
epaulettes  and  other  insignia  as  a  grand  duke's 
purser,  thick  sHces  of  gold  and  silver  lace,  buttons 
as  large  as  medallions,  and  a  badge  like  some  ancient 
coat  of  arms  done  in  glittering  enamel.  There  were 
russia-leather  boxes  whose  frayed  edges  still  bore 
traces  of  exquisite  gold-tooling  and  which,  on  being 
opened,  bore  within,  delicately  printed  on  their 
satin  lining,  the  strange  names  of  oriental  and  Levan- 
tine jewellers.  And  in  one  of  these  boxes,  an  oblong 
affair  like  the  case  of  a  cigar-holder,  we  were  per- 
mitted to  behold  the  cigarette  which  the  great  poten- 
tate had  deigned  to  offer  the  Grand  Duke's  purser. 
A  fat  oval  thing  bearing  an  imperial  monogram  in 
gold.  Captain  Macedoine  regarded  it  reverently 
as  it  lay  on  his  palm.  From  His  Majesty's  own  case, 
he  observed  in  a  deep  abstraction.  Part  of  the  Old 
Order.  Soon  to  go.  .  .  .  He  spread  out  his 
bizarre  possessions  on  the  coverlet  and  showed  us 
each  in  turn.  There  was  a  slip-ring  for  a  cravat, 
of  gold  so  heavy  it  could  never  be  used,  and  with  an 
incongruous  emerald  like  a  lump  of  bottle  glass 
clamped  to  the  centre  of  it.  There  was  a  stick-pin 
with  a  perfect  knob  of  silly-looking  rubies.  There 
were  cuff -buttons  like  Brazil  nuts  and  about  as  beauti- 
ful, with  diamonds  in  an  eruption  around  the  edges. 
There  was  a  gold  stop  watch  in  a  hunter  case,  with  a 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     201 

chime  and  a  coat-of-arms.  And  there  was  a  gold 
cigarette  case  like  a  pjolished  slab,  almost  insolent 
in  its  sheer,  naked  pricelessness.  These,  it  appeared, 
were  tokens  of  recognition  from  various  wealthy 
personages  who  had  been  guests  on  the  Grand  Duke's 
yacht.  It  was  customary,  you  know.  There  had 
been  many  others,  which  he  did  not  regard  with  any 
particular  sentiment,  and  had  sold  or  exchanged 
for  feminine  trinkets  for  his  dear  Euphrosyne.  There 
was  a  movement  on  the  part  of  the  two  women  as  he 
pronounced  this  name  and  I  looked  at  the  girl.  She 
met  my  gaze  with  a  radiant  smile  and  a  little  nod 
that  seemed  to  mean  *Now  we  are  coming  to  it/ 
As  we  were.  For  Captain  Macedoine  went  on  to 
inform  us  that  one  of  the  penalties  of  his  wanderings 
among  princes  and  plutocrats  was  an  almost  monas- 
tic habit  of  life.  It  would  not  have  done,  you  know. 
He  was  the  repository  of  discreet  confidences,  the 
inarticulate  witness  of  august  privacies.  He  oc- 
cupied a  position,  so  he  seemed  to  imply,  similar  to 
that  of  the  eunuchs  of  oriental  empires,  in  so  far  as 
he  was  supposed  to  have  no  ascertainable  human 
attributes  beyond  cupidity  and  intelligence.  A 
seneschal!  So  it  fell  out  that  the  Grand  Duke,  whose 
photograph  showed  a  much  be- whiskered  person  with 
very  long  thin  legs  and  a  huge  nose,  found  himself 
without   a   purser   one    day.     Captain    Macedoine 


202     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

resigned.  Under  ordinary  circumstances  he  wouJd 
have  returned  to  England  and  settled  on  a  small 
estate  in  the  country.  But  the  circumstances  were 
not  ordinary.  He  had  become  the  last  of  his  line. 
The  Macedoines  had  been  dwindling  for  centuries. 
Did  I  believe  in  hereditary  destinies?  Families  do 
die  out,  you  know.  So  instead  of  taking  the  P.  L.  M. 
express  from  Cannes  to  Paris  and  so  on  to  London, 
he  took  a  passage  to  New  York.  First  class,  you 
know.  As  we  reached  this  particular  stage  in  Cajj- 
tain  Macedoine's  reminiscences,  a  brief  and  extraor- 
dinarily concentrated  expression  came  into  the  pale 
blue  eyes  fixed  on  the  shadows  beyond  the  bed, 
his  hands  and  nostrils  remained  momentarily  rigid, 
as  though  a  sharp  memory  had  gone  right  through 
him  and  bereft  him  of  all  volition.  And  his  eyes, 
closing,  seemed  to  take  his  life  with  them  and  he  be- 
came a  corpse  enjoying,  let  us  say,  a  siesta.  And 
this  paroxysm,  which  gave  me  an  uncomfortable 
feeling  that  Captain  Macedoine  was  omitting  the 
really  interesting  details  of  his  departure  from  the 
Grand  Duke's  yacht,  was  construed  by  the  Sarafov 
women  as  a  symptom  of  mental  anguish;  and  the 
girl,  with  a  gesture  almost  divine  in  its  exquisite 
and  restrained  impulsiveness,  touched  his  arm.  A 
smile  suffused  the  man's  features  before  he  opened 
his  eyes  and  turned  them  upon  her  with  sacerdotal 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER      203 

graciousness.  The  thing  was  so  unreal  that  I  was 
lost  in  a  turmoil  of  effort  to  retain  my  hold  upon 
actuality.  The  histrionic  instinct  gives  one  strange 
jolts  when  viewed  close  up.  And  through  that 
turmoil  I  heard  him  telling  them,  as  he  had  done  be- 
fore often  enough  no  doubt,  the  story  of  how  he  met 
his  dear  Euphrosyne  in  the  old  French  Quarter. 
And  as  he  often  said,  you  know,  his  dear  Artemisia 
was  the  living  image,  you  know,  of  her  dear  mother. 
His  hand  moved  absently  and  the  girl,  anticipating 
his  desire  as  though  they  had  rehearsed  the  perform- 
ance many  times,  leaned  forward,  took  a  photograph 
from  the  table,  and  handed  it  to  me.  His  dear 
Euphrosyne! 

"Well,  it  wasn't  so  very  like  his  daughter  after  all, 
not  really  so  like  her  as  Pollyni  was  like  IVIrs.  Sarafov. 
The  woman  in  the  photo  was  undeniably  beautiful, 
but  it  was  the  beauty  of  the  octaroon.  The  large 
eyes  and  the  full,  sensuous  lips  expressed  with  sombre 
emphasis  the  great  enigma  of  race.  In  her  daughter 
this  enigma  had  been  transmuted  into  an  intensely 
personal  thing,  a  seductive  mystery  that  made  men 
love  her  at  the  same  time  that  it  overshadowed  love 
and  filled  them  with  anxiety  for  their  spiritual  safety. 
There  was  none  of  her  radiant,  aggressive  insouciance 
in  the  photograph.  It  was  the  portrait  of  a  clinging 
and  rapacious  female.     A  soft  and  delicious  parasite. 


204      CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

the  victim  of  an  immense  and  tragic  error.  I  heard 
Captain  Macedoine,  while  I  sat  with  the  photograph 
in  my  hand,  telling  of  the  almost  incredible  happiness 
of  his  home  life  in  the  little  wooden  cottage  amid  the 
tall  grasses  out  on  Tchoupitoulas  Street.  It  all  came 
back  to  me  as  I  listened .  The  clangour  of  the  box-cars 
being  switched  where  the  trolley  bumped  along  the 
docks;  the  dry  and  dismal  stretch  of  Poydras  Street  in 
the  evening,  the  stark  warehouses  of  Calliope,  and 
then  mile  on  mile  of  verandahed  shabbiness,  getting 
more  and  more  open,  with  fields  and  cross-roads  run- 
ning down  into  mere  vague  vacancies,  or  perhaps  a 
shy,  solitary  cottage.  And  the  extraordinary  sunsets 
over  the  lake — sunsets  like  vast  flat  washes  of  crim- 
son and  gamboge  and  violet,  which  were  wiped  out 
as  by  a  hasty  hand  and  left  the  wide-spaced /aw6owr^5 
a  prey  to  the  murmurous  onslaught  of  insects  and 
the  hollow  boom  of  enormous  frogs.  And  the  two 
women  sat  in  rapt  silence,  absorbing  the  romantic 
story  with  its  romantic  setting.  An  artificial  storj', 
if  you  like,  as  everything  about  Captain  Macedoine 
was  artificial.  It  was  almost  as  if  he  had  achieved 
his  destiny  by  coming  at  last  to  that  extraordinary 
concoction  of  artificialities  which  we  call  New  Orleans, 
where  dead  civilizations  lie  superimposed  one  upon 
the  other  like  leaves  in  a  rotten  old  book,  where  you 
can  cut  down  through  them,  from  the  mail-steamer 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     205 

4 

and  the  trolley-car  and  the  fake  religion,  right  down 
to  the  poisonous  swamp  and  the  Voodoo  frenzy.  It 
was  a  place  whose  very  silences  were  eloquent  of  sad- 
ness and  frustrated  achievement,  and  he  chose  it 
as  the  scene  of  incredible  happiness!  For  he  con- 
ceived an  affection  for  the  city  which  led  him  to  say 
in  so  many  words  that  it  was  the  only  possible  place 
to  live,  in  the  United  States.  His  patrician  up- 
bringing and  cosmopolitan  career,  it  seems,  had 
brought  him  to  the  same  view  of  our  western  civiliza- 
tion as  Mrs.  Sarafov.  It  was  this  peculiar  notion 
once  more  obtruded  upon  me  that  stung  me  into 
speech  with  him. 

"'You  really  think  that?'  *You  prefer  this  sort 
of  place,  for  instance,  to  New  England.'^' 

"'Oh  there's  no  comparison,'  he  returned.  'Here 
you  have  absolute  freedom.  There  you  are  strapped 
down  in  a  groove  and  remain  there,  unless  you  fancy 
going  to  prison.'  And  he  laughed  contemptuously, 
as  at  some  reminiscence. 

'"What  do  you  understand  by  freedom?'  I  de- 
manded and  he  bent  his  gaze  moodily  upon  the 
shadows  as  though  seeking  to  elucidate  some  depress- 
ing problem. 

"  'There  are  a  good  many  answers  to  that  question,' 
he  said  at  length,  'but  I  should  say,  in  my  case,  that 
it  means  deliverance  from  the  Anglo-Saxon's  infernal 


£00     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

ideas  of  morality.*  The  last  words  came  out  with 
what  was  almost  a  snarl.  He  put  the  things  he  had 
been  showing  us  back  in  the  bag  and  locked  it.  'Will 
you  put  it  back,  my  dear?'  he  murmured  with  a  smile. 
*  We  must  pick  out  something  for  you  when  .  .  . 
eh?*  The  girl  gave  him  an  affectionate  glance  and 
carried  the  bag  away  into  the  dusk. 

"  'Then  I  take  it,  Captain,  you  are  doing  well  here? ' 
I  observed.     He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"*So-so,' he  answered.  'So-so.  Political  troubles 
have  interfered  so  far,  but  it  is  upon  them  really  that 
we  build,  you  know.  Our  losses  will  be  more  than 
made  good  shortly.' 

"  'But  I  was  given  to  understand  that  the  Minister 
of  the  Interior  declined  to  authorize  the  concessions.' 

"Captain  Macedoine  became  extremely  human. 
He  grinned  behind  his  chunky  hand. 

"'Pardon  me  for  laughing,'  he  returned.  'The 
Minister  of  the  Interior  has  gone  on  a  long  tour  in 
Anatolia,  for  his  health.  It  is  quite  possible  he  will 
remain  down  there.  It  would  certainly  be  a  sensible 
thing  to  do.' 

'"Why,  what  do  you  mean?"  I  asked. 

"'Is  it  possible  you  do  not  know?'  he  said  in  a 
pitying  tone.  *  The  English  newspapers  print  a  great 
deal  of  football  news  and  racing,  but  a  matter  like 
this  is  passed  over  in  silence.     Eh?     What?     These 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     207 

ladies  know.  I  know.  But  you  don't  know.  Your 
captain  does  not  know  either,  I  dare  say.  Nor  your 
owners.  I  was  prepared  for  this  three  months  back, 
I  may  say.  My  aflSHations  with  various  syndicates 
enabled  me  to  draw  the  necessary  deductions.  I 
chartered  three  ships,  borrowing  the  money  at  very 
high  interest.  Those  ships  are  loading  stores  and 
ammunition  in  Glasgow.  They  will  arrive  in  about 
three  weeks.' 

"'Ammunition?'  I  repeated,  rather  suspecting  his 
sanity.     This  was  in  1912,  remember. 

"  'Dear  me,  yes,'  he  answered  with  another  pitying 
smile.  'Didn't  you  know  really?  There  will  be  war 
you  know.  Next  week  possibly.  Perhaps  to- 
morrow. Why,*  he  added  with  considerable  anima- 
tion, *it  might  start  to-night!'" 


CHAPTER  VII 

MR.  SPENLOVE,  seated  on  the  extreme 
edge  of  his  little  deck-stool,  his  knees  out, 
his  hands  lightly  inserted  in  his  trouser 
pockets,  paused  again  in  his  narrative 
and  looked  over  his  shoulder  as  the  quartermaster 
at  the  gangway  rang  four  bells.  The  moon  was  gone 
behind  the  vast  mass  of  rock  which  had  been  used 
by  him  as  a  material  background  to  the  fantastic 
tale  he  was  telling  in  his  own  introspective  and  irritat- 
ing manner.  Out  beyond  the  sharp  black  silhouette 
of  the  headland  the  open  water  was  a  dazzling  glitter 
that  contrasted  oddly  with  the  profound  obscurity 
of  the  tiny  haven.  From  time  to  time  a  silent  form 
had  risen  from  the  chairs  beneath  the  awning  and 
gone  forward  to  the  navigating  bridge,  returning 
in  the  same  unobtrusive  fashion.  And  as  Mr. 
Spenlove  paused,  and  the  clear-toned  bronze  bell 
rang  four  strokes  that  echoed  musically  from  the 
cliff,  another  form,  moving  with  care,  emerged  from 
the  ward-room  scuttle  and  set  down  a  tray  on  a  small 
table.     There   was   a   movement   among  the  deck 

208 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     20^ 

chairs  as  feet  came  down  softly  and  felt  for  dis- 
carded shoes,  and  the  surgeon,  clearing  his  throat 
noisily,  stood  up  and  yawned.  One  by  one  the 
officers  who  had  thus  elected  to  pass  a  night  in  con- 
versation took  from  the  tray  a  cup  of  the  British 
Navy's  celebrated  cocoa  and  returned  to  their  chairs. 
Mr.  Spenlove,  still  sitting  upright  and  looking  round 
as  though  he  expected  someone  to  contradict  him, 
put  out  his  hand,  and  the  night-steward  placed  in 
it  the  remaining  cup  before  moving  off  and  vanishing 
into  the  shadows,  shot  by  gleams  of  brass  handrails 
and  polished  oak,  of  the  companion.  Mr.  Spenlove, 
his  head  cocked  slightly  on  one  side,  his  dark  elvish 
eyebrows  raised  satirically,  and  his  sharp,  short 
beard  moving  slightly,  stirred  his  cocoa.  He  be- 
trayed no  concern  as  to  the  state  of  mind  of  his  au- 
dience. He  was  well  aware  that  the  perfect  listener 
does  not  exist.  The  novelist  is  more  fortunate.  For 
every  hundred  persons  who  deign  to  take  up  his  book 
and  trifle  with  it  for  an  hour,  putting  it  down  upon 
the  slightest  pretext  and  perhaps  forgetting  to  finish 
it,  there  will  be  one  enthusiast  who  savors  every 
word,  notes  the  turn  of  a  phrase,  and  enjoys  the 
peculiar  idiosyncrasies  of  the  style.  One  must  not 
expect  this  when  telling  a  tale,  except  perhaps  when 
one  is  a  boy,  and  the  dormitory  is  hushed  to  listen, 
and  one  goes  on  and  on  until  honest  snores  register 


210     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

satiety.  Mr.  Spenlove,  stirring  and  sipping  his  cocoa, 
stared  straight  across  at  Griinbaum's  house,  which 
the  current  had  now  brought  before  him,  and  com- 
posed his  thoughts  before  going  on  to  the  final  con- 
clusion of  his  story.  He  was  moved  somewhat  him- 
self because  the  mere  act  of  narration  had  evoked 
memories  whose  strength  he  had  perhaps  under- 
estimated since  they  had  remained  dormant  so  long, 
and  the  immediate  stress  of  the  great  conflict,  in 
which  they  were  all  leisurely  participating,  had  led 
him  to  imagine  that  the  worid  before  the  war  was 
dead  and  gone.  Which  it  wasn't,  he  reflected,  set- 
ting down  his  cup  and  beginning  to  roll  a  cigarette 
.  .  .  not  by  a  long  shot;  and  remained  silent  yet 
a  little  longer,  marvelling  at  the  extraordinary 
triviality  of  such  things  as  war,  against  the  sombre 
verities  of  Race  and  Love  and  Despair. 

And  then  he  suddenly  became  aware  that  the  shoes 
had  been  again  softly  discarded,  and  he  heard  the 
creak  of  the  trestles  as  the  navigating  officer  stretched 
himself  on  his  camp-bed  alongside  the  hand-steering 
gear.     Rolling  a  cigarette  Mr.  Spenlove  began  again. 

"I  doubt  if  you  can  conceive  now,"  he  remarked, 
"how  that  bland  announcement  of  a  possible  war 
before  morning  startled  and  shocked  me.  I  doubt 
if  anybody  realizes  how  such  things  tore  our  hearts 
before  those  autumn  days  in  nineteen  fourteen.  Some 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     211 

of  you  may  remember  when  war  was  declared  between 
England  and  the  Boer  Republics.  Quite  a  little 
thrill  in  London;  a  romantic  feeling  that  the  die  was 
cast,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  But  that  was  far 
away  across  the  sea,  a  diminutive  business  which 
it  pleased  us  to  consider  one  of  our  punitive  exp>edi- 
tions.  War,  the  collision  of  European  hosts,  was  a 
subject  for  literature  and  art.  It  wouldn't  ever 
happen  again.  The  Turks  and  Italians  had  been  at 
war  and  it  had  been  a  decorous  affair  involving  some 
nebulous  actions  in  Cyrenaica — a  locality  we  had 
never  heard  of  before — and  a  few  amusing  incidents 
at  sea.  I  remember  we  were  pursued  all  one  morn- 
ing by  an  indignant  Italian  scout-ship  during  that 
war,  who  wanted  to  know  why  we  hadn't  stopped  at 
her  signal.  I  believe,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  mate  on 
the  bridge  had  been  making  himself  a  hammock  and 
hadn't  seen  anything.  And  when  they  did  catch  us  up 
our  skipper  simply  broke  out  the  Red  Ensign,  showed 
his  codeflags,  and  went  ahead.  War?  We  hadn't 
any  conception  of  what  the  word  meant.  Our  troops 
were  always  walloping  some  tribe  or  other  in  India 
and  so  forth,  and  we  lived  in  a  peaceful,  orderly 
world. 

"But  Captain  Macedoine's  remark  that  war  might 
break  out  at  any  time  had  something,  intangible 
if  you  like,  to  corroborate  it.     It  was  in  the  air.     It 


212     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

was  very  evident  in  that  crowded  cafe  when  the  ro- 
bust gentleman  in  the  frock  coat  and  fez  and  wearing 
a  silver  star  was  working  his  hearers  up  to  a  hoarse, 
guttural  frenzy  about  something — probably  our  old 
friend  Liberty.  There  was  a  destroyer  in  the  harbour 
near  us — a  dingy-looking  and  obsolete  craft  with  low, 
sullen  funnels  and  a  disagreeable  array  of  torpedo- 
tubes  with  the  fat  snouts  of  torpedoes  lurking  under 
the  hoods.  In  those  days  a  war-ship  of  any  sort 
made  one  think  all  sorts  of  chaotic  thoughts.  And 
now  he  had  mentioned  it  to  me,  a  good  many  other 
things  came  to  mind  which  pointed  toward  some 
readjustment  of  power.  Our  sudden  charter  for 
Saloniki,  for  example,  breaking  in  on  our  pleasant, 
regular  jog-trot  trip  to  keep  the  great  mills  of  north- 
em  Italy  going.  Yes,  I  believed  him  in  spite  of  my 
prejudice,  and  I  showed  it  by  taking  my  leave  with  a 
certain  degree  of  haste  and  starting  for  the  ship. 
We  always  do  that.  It  is  our  idea  of  safety — ^to  get 
back  to  the  ship.  Habit  and  duty  constrain  us. 
But  I  had  to  be  shown  the  way.  It  was  a  dark, 
moonless  night  and  I  had  very  little  notion  how  to 
proceed.  We  bade  Captain  Macedoine  good-night 
and  he  immediately  assumed  the  manner  of  an  aged 
ecclesiastic.  He  became  much  older.  I  don't  know 
whether  you  will  get  just  what  I  mean,  but  the  mere 
fact  that  he  was  holding  the  centre  of  the  stage,  that 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     213 

we  were  all  looking  at  him  and  listening  to  him  and 
thinking  about  him,  had  seemed  to  inform  him  with 
an  actual  access  of  vitality.  But  when  I  started 
from  my  motionless  pose  in  the  background  and 
scraped  my  chair  and  muttered  something  about 
having  to  get  back  to  the  ship,  he  seemed  to  fade. 
He  looked  at  me  for  an  instant  in  an  attentive  and 
perplexed  fashion,  as  though  he  could  hardly  account 
for  my  presence. 

"'I  never  cared  for  the  sea,'  he  murmured.  *A 
preposterous  life.  All  the  disadvantages  of  being  in 
jail  with — what  was  it?  Something  or  other  .  .  . 
I  forget  .  .  .  well,  you  must  come  again. 
Always  pleased,  you  know.     .     .     .' 

"And  then,  outside,  Mrs.  Sarafov  insisted  that  I 
I  would  lose  my  way.  Pollyni  must  go  with  me  and 
show  me  a  short  route  to  a  landing-stage  where  I 
could  get  a  boat.  We  stood  in  the  clear  darkness  of 
the  high,  narrow  sidewalk,  and  I  could  feel  the  girl 
move  closer  to  me  as  she  lifted  her  chin  and  smiled 
into  my  eyes.  What?  Lyrical?  Well,  I  can  tell 
you  that  you  would  have  been  lyrical,  too,  doctor.  I 
was  thirty-five,  you  know,  and  I  had  never  been  in 
close  contact  with  beautiful  women  before.  Just  as 
Artemisia  had  her  own  secret  lure,  a  lure  founded  on 
her  exquisite,  derisive  humour  and  her  sombre 
heritage,  so  this  extraordinarily  seductive  and  friendly 


214     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

young  person,  an  entrancing  character  composed  of 
Eastern  mystery  and  Western  frankness,  appealed 
irresistibly  to  the  connoisseur  in  a  man.  She  was 
sex,  and  nothing  but  sex,  yet  she  maintained  without 
effort  the  role  of  being  merely  a  dear  friend  of 
Captain  Macedoine's  daughter. 

"'You  must  come  again,*  said  Mrs.  Sarafov, 
drawing  her  shawl  round  her  fine  shoulders.  'We 
don't  often  see  people  from  the  other  side.  In  the 
afternoon,  eh?  And  Miss  Macedoine,  she'll  come 
over.* 

"'Then  you  don't  think  there  will  be  any  trouble?* 
I  asked.     *  Any  fighting,  I  mean.' 

"'We  never  interfere  in  politics,*  she  answered, 
drily.  'So  long  as  you  mind  your  own  business  and 
let  them  fight  it  out  among  'emselves,  you're  safe 
enough  here,  I  should  say.' 

'"What  is  it  all  about?'  I  demanded. 

"*  That's  more  than  I  can  tell  you,'  she  answered 
with  disarming  candour.  'Taxes  mostly,  I  guess. 
But  you  have  to  pay  'em  to  somebody.'  And  then 
she  added  cryptically:  *I  don't  know  as  we'll  be  any 
better  off  if  they  was  to  win.' 

"Well,  we  talked  a  little  longer  and  then  the  girl, 
who  had  run  into  the  house  for  a  shawl,  stepped  along 
beside  me  with  her  long,  sure-footed  stride  and  we 
started  up  the  dark  street.     There  were  very  few 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     tlB 

lights  about  now  and  from  time  to  time  she  put  her 
hand  on  my  arm  as  we  came  to  a  gap  in  the  side- 
walk. 

"'And  so,'  I  said  in  a  low  tone,  *you  are  a  great 
friend  of  Miss  Macedoine,  I  understand.' 

"*0h,  yes,'  she  said.  *I  like  her  very  much.  She 
tells  me  everything.* 

"  *  Everything? '  She  nodded,  leaning  forward  and 
looking  up  at  me  in  a  certain  demure,  elvish  fashion. 

"'Yes!'  she  replied,  dwelling  on  the  word  with 
tremendous  emphasis.  'Everything.  About  you, 
when  you  come  to  see  her  in  London,  you  know.  Oh, 
she  like  you.  She  like  you  very  much.  When  she 
know  you  have  come,  she'll  be  crazy.' 

'"But  you  know,'  I  protested,  'you  know  I'm  only 
a  sort  of  friend.' 

"*0h,  yes!'  again  with  the  dwelling  accent.  *0f 
course,  a  friend.  Ajid  she  talk  and  talk  and  tell  me 
all  about  you  and  say  to  me:  "No,  he'll  never  come. 
I'll  never  see  him  again.  Forget  it,"  and  then  she 
sits  and  looks  at  the  sea  for  an  hour.  And  when  I 
say  to  her:  "Why  don't  you  write.''"  she  say,  *'I 
have,"  and  is  all  sad  and  miserable.' 

"'But  she  didn't  tell  me  this  when  she  wrote.' 

"'No.'''  said  the  girl  with  a  faintly  sarcastic  in- 
flection.    'Well,  she  wouldn't     ...     I  suppose.' 

"'Besides  which,'  I  went  on,  'she  gave  me  to 


216     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

understand  she  was  living  with  this  Monsieur 
Kinaitsky,  so.     .     .     .' 

"*He  supports  her,'  she  said,  'she's  very  lucky/ 

"'How?'  I  asked,  astonished  at  this  peculiar 
sentiment. 

"'Because  he  never  goes  near  her  for,  oh,  since  this 
three  months.  He's  married,  you  know.  You'll 
pass  his  house  in  the  boat,  only  there's  a  fog  on  the 
Gulf  to-night.  And  he  supports  four  others.  Very 
rich.  And  so  long  as  she  stays  round  she  can  do 
what  she  hkes.' 

"'Would  you  mind  telling  me,  my  dear,'  I  said, 
*why  this  gentleman  supports  all  these  .  .  .  er 
.  .  .  strangers.'*'  She  shrugged  her  shoulders  and 
took  my  arm  daintily. 

"'Because  he's  rich,  I  suppose,*  she  remarked. 
*  They  all  do  it  here.  In  England — no.'' '  she  added  in 
inquiry. 

"'Well,  not  on  such  a  lavish  scale,'  I  admitted. 
*Then  there  would  be  no  harm  in  my  going  to  see  her 
where  she  lives  .'*' 

"  *  Oh,  sure !  She  wants  you  to.  I'll  go  to-morrow, 
eh?    And  tell  her  you  will  come.'*     What  time?' 

"'What  about  the  afternoon?' 

"'Yes.     And  now  I'll  tell  you  how  to  get  there.' 

"'You'd  better  write  it  down,'  I  said,  'when  we 
come  to  a  light.' 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     217 

"As  we  approached  the  road  running  parallel  to 
the  curve  of  the  Gulf  the  air  became  heavy  and 
moist.  It  was  October,  with  a  chill  in  the  midnight 
air.  And  for  another  thing,  it  was  as  quiet  as  any 
country  road  of  an  autumn  night  at  home.  Our  feet 
padded  softly  on  the  matted  leaves  lying  wet  on  the 
path  when  we  turned  into  the  main  road,  and  through 
the  gardens  of  the  villas  came  a  faint  breath  of  air 
laden  with  salt  and  the  dead  odours  of  the  river  delta. 
We  seemed  to  be  alone  in  the  world,  we  two,  as  we 
hurried  along  in  the  darkness,  and  the  girl  pressed 
more  closely  to  me  as  though  for  protection  against 
unseen  dangers.  And  yet,  so  crystal  clear  was  her 
soul,  that  there  lay  on  my  mind  a  delicious  fancy  that 
she  was  deliberately  impersonating  the  woman  who 
had  talked  to  her  of  me,  that  she  was  offering  herself 
as  a  chaste  and  temporary  substitute  for  the  being 
whom,  so  she  assumed,  we  both  loved. 

"And  I,"  said  Mr.  Spenlove,  after  some  business 
with  a  reluctant  match,  "was  not  prepared,  just  then, 
to  deny  it.  It  would  be  absurd  and  misleading  to 
speak  of  a  community  of  interest  as  love,  yet  we  are 
driven  to  discover  some  reason  for  what  we  call  love 
apart  from  the  appeal  of  sex.  Otherwise  a  pretty 
promiscuous  kettle  of  fish!  Where  does  it  begin  and 
out  of  what  does  it  grow?  I'm  not  asking  because  I 
imagine  I  shall  get  any  answer.    I'm  inclined  to 


218     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

brieve  the  origin  of  love  is  as  obscure  as  that  of  life 
itself.  I  put  the  thought  into  words,  because  at  that 
moment,  with  that  girl  beside  me,  with  the  whole 
mundane  contraption  of  existence  obliterated  by  a 
damp,  foggy  darkness,  with  the  moisture  dripping 
hurriedly  from  invisible  trees,  and  the  immediate 
future  rendered  ominous  by  Captain  Macedoine's 
remarks,  I  felt  a  conviction  that  I  was  closer  to  the 
solution  of  the  problem  than  I  had  ever  been  before. 
Or  since,  for  that  matter.  Closer,  I  say.  I  was 
aware  of  it  without  being  actually  able  to  take  hold 
ol  it.  Nor  did  I  try  to  take  hold  of  it.  I  was  still 
in  that  condition  of  mucilaginous  uncertainty 
toward  my  emotions  in  which  most  of  us  English 
seem  to  pass  our  days.  Foreigners  are  led  to  imagine 
we  really  take  no  interest  in  the  subject  of  love,  for 
example,  we  are  so  scared  of  any  approach  to  the 
flames  of  desire.  We  compromise  by  floating  down 
some  economic  current  into  the  broad  river  of 
matrimony.  We  have  a  genius  for  emotional 
rdinquishment.  We — you — are  bom  compromisers. 
We  are  so  sure  that  we  shall  never  know  the  supreme 
raptures  of  passion  that  most  of  us  never  do  know 
them.  And  m  any  case  we  are  so  rattled  by  the 
mere  proximity  of  love  that  we  never  seem  to  get  any 
ooherent  conception  of  its  nature.  And  I  was  not 
much  of  an  exception.    I  have  no  supreme  secret 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     fl9 

to  impart  to  you.  As  I  have  said,  I  am  par  excellence 
a  super  in  the  play.  For  a  few  memorable  moments 
I  was  entrusted  with  the  part  of  a  principal.  It  was 
not  my  fault,  after  all,  that  nothing  came  of  it.  I 
sometimes  wonder  what  would  have  come  of  it,  had 
not  her  sinister  destiny  intervened.     .     .     . 

"And  then  suddenly  our  feet  struck  timber  that 
rang  hollow  and  I  made  out  a  slender  jetty  running 
into  the  fog.  The  girl  moved  ahead,  drawing  me 
after  her  as  she  scanned  the  water  with  her  other 
hand  shading  her  eyes.  For  a  moment  she  stood 
listening  and  then  she  uttered  a  melodious  contralto 
shout  for  someone  named  *  Makri  I '  I  can  recall, 
as  I  repeat  the  word,  the  name  of  that  obscure  and 
unknown  boatman,  the  very  timbre  of  her  voice,  the 
poise  of  her  form,  and  the  firm  flexure  of  her  fingers  on 
mine.  And  for  that  moment,  as  we  stood  waiting 
and  the  boat  came  slowly  and  silently  toward  us 
with  the  standing  figure  of  the  oarsman  lost  in  the 
higher  fog,  I  had  an  extraordinary  impression,  clear 
and  diminutive  as  a  vignette,  that  I  loved  her  and 
that  she,  in  some  mysterious  fashion,  could  love  me 
without  jeopardizing  her  own  destiny.  A  folly,  of 
course;  but  I  insist  it  gave  me  an  inkling,  that  brief 
illumination,  of  the  actual  nature  of  love." 

At  this  momentous  declaration  Mr.  Spenlove 
suddenly   relapsed   into   a   pause   that   became   a 


220     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

silence,  as  though  he  were  still  under  the  influence  of 
that  illumination  of  which  he  spoke,  and  were  ponder- 
ing it  to  the  extent  of  forgetting  his  audience  al- 
together. And  it  was  a  suspicion  of  this  amiable 
idiosyncrasy  which  caused  the  surgeon  to  make  a 
remark.     Mr.  Spenlove  gave  a  grunt  of  assent. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "You  are  right.  But  this  is  not 
a  supreme  secret.  I  can  only  offer  you  the  sugges- 
tion that  what  you  call  a  love  affair  is  really  only  a 
sequence  of  innumerable  small  passions.  Yes,  for  a 
moment,  you  know,  I  saw  them  plainly  enough — a 
procession  of  tiny,  perfect  things,  moments,  gestures, 
glances,  and  silences  each  complete  and  utterly 
beautiful  in  itself,  preoccupied  with  its  o\\ti  per- 
fection. Scientific?  Not  at  all.  Intuition  and 
nothing  else.  One  did  not  indulge  in  science  with 
that  magical  girl  holding  one's  hand.  Science  is  only 
a  sort  of  decorous  guesswork  at  the  best,  guesswork 
corroborated  by  facts.  In  the  presence  of  a  woman 
like  that,  you  know!  At  this  distance  of  time,  my 
friends,  I  can  tell  you  that  this  girl,  the  chance 
acquaintance  of  a  chance  evening,  imp>osed  her 
personality  upon  me  as  the  very  genius  of  the  tender 
passion.  Yet  I  had  but  that  one  rhythmical  moment 
by  which  to  judge — and  the  boat,  a  long  and  ele- 
gantly carved  affair  of  cedar  wood  decorated  with 
brass  bulbs,   slid   softly  alongside,   a  tiny  lantern 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     221 

glowing  between  the  thwarts;  like  some  perilous 
bark  of  destiny,  and  she  a  charming,  enigmatic 
spirit  watching  with  gracious  care  my  departure  for 
an  alluring  yet  unknown  shore. 

*'For  that  is  what  it  was.  I  stepped  into  that  long, 
narrow  affair,  with  its  tall,  gondola-like  prow  and 
absurd  brass  balls,  and  I  left  my  youth  behind  on  the 
hollow-sounding  boards  of  that  jetty.  No,  there  is 
nothing  to  laugh  at  in  a  man  of  thirty-five  leaving  his 
youth  behind.  There  are  men  who  have  seen  their 
own  daughters  married,  and  retain  for  themselves  the 
hearts  of  adventurous  boys.  From  the  formidable 
ramparts  of  half  a  century  they  can  leap  down  and 
frolic  with  the  young  fellows  who  for  the  first  time  are 
in  love,  or  seeing  the  world,  or  holding  down  a  job,  or 
reading  Balzac.  I  cannot  compete  with  such  men. 
Youth  fills  me  with  awe.  It  is  something  I  believe  I 
had  once,  but  I  am  not  sure.  I  watch  them  nowa- 
days, with  their  unerring  cruelty  of  instinct,  their 
clear  egotism,  their  uncanny  intuition  and  sophistica- 
tion, and  I  wonder  if  I  were  ever  like  that,  a  sort  of 
callow  and  clever  young  god!  I  wonder,  too, 
whether  a  good  deal  of  the  modern  misery  and  un- 
happiness  isn't  simply  due  to  women  being  at  a  loss, 
as  it  were,  to  know  just  what  the  new  and  improved 
breed  of  young  men  want.  All  this  talk  of  women 
themselves  becoming  modern  is  so  much  flub-dub. 


222     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

Look  at  Mrs.  Evans.  She  was,  and  is,  coeval  with  the 
Jurassic  Period.  And  women  are  continually  trying 
to  get  back  there.  You  may  ask  me  how  I  know 
this,  and  I  can  only  tell  you  that  I  have  an  emotional 
conviction — the  strongest  conviction  in  the  world, 
born  of  the  tremendous  experience  which  was  coming 
upon  me. 

"And  the  first  thing  which,  you  might  say,  certified 
my  new  status  as  a  grown-up  human  being,  was  my 
promise  to  go  and  see  Captain  Macedoine's  daughter. 
I  mean  I  made  that  promise  without  a  shadow  of 
reservation.  In  youth  we  hedge,  we  balk,  we  bilk, 
over  and  over  again.  Fidelity  is  unattractive  to  us. 
We  cannot  see  that  to  keep  a  promise  made  to  a 
woman  is  a  species  of  spiritual  strength.  It  may  be  a 
foolish  promise  made  to  a  worthless  woman,  but  that 
is  of  no  importance.  In  youth  we  go  on  breaking 
away,  breaking  away,  for  one  reason  or  another,  until 
we  have  not  even  faith  in  ourselves,  untU  we  lose  sight 
of  the  essential  nature  of  true  fidelity,  which  is  a  blind 
disregard  of  our  own  immediate  well  being.  And  I 
was  astonished,  as  I  sat  in  that  boat  and  floated 
away  into  the  gray  void  of  the  fog,  with  the  girl,  the 
shore,  the  sky,  all  gone,  that  she  had  infected  me 
with  her  romantic  view  of  life.  I  had  always  pre- 
served a  sort  of  semi-religious  notion  that  love,  for 
me  personally  you  know,  was  bound  to  be  an  aflFair  of 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     223 

highly  respectable  and  virtuous  character.  I  don't 
know  why,  I'm  sure,  but  I  had  that  illusion.  But  I 
discovered  in  that  fog-bound  boat  that  I  knew  very 
little  about  myself  after  all,  that  the  future  was 
absolutely  unknown  to  me  beyond  the  grand  fact 
that  I  was  going  to  the  address  which  the  girl  had 
repeated  twice  in  her  musical  contralto,  and  that  I 
was  mysteriously  exalted  about  it. 

"I  was  steering,  you  know,  and  had  let  things  go  a 
bit,  I  suppose,  under  the  stress  of  my  thoughts,  when 
I  realized  the  boatman  was  calling  to  me  and  waving 
an  arm.  I  collected  my  wits  and  looked  round. 
There  was  a  methodical  sound  of  oars  and  in  a 
moment  a  large  boat  loomed  close  to  us  and  I  saw  the 
ghostly  figures  of  the  four  rowers,  their  bodies  rising 
to  full  height  as  they  plunged  their  oars  in  deep  and 
then  fell  slowly  backward  to  the  thwarts.  And  as 
the  boat  moved  forward  again  in  one  of  its  long, 
rhythmical  surges  and  the  stem  of  her  came  into  the 
faint  radiance  of  our  small  lantern  I  saw  a  bent 
figure  with  a  fez  lean  suddenly  forward,  grasping  the 
gunwale  with  one  hand  and  his  coat  collar  with  the 
other  and  stare  at  us  with  a  fixed,  crouching  intensity 
that  was  familiar.  I  was  perfectly  certain  it  was  M. 
Nikitos,  and  in  the  mental  excitement  of  wondering 
what  he  might  be  doing  at  that  hour  in  a  four-oared 
boat,  I  was  turning  my  own  craft  round  in  a  half 


224     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

circle.  I  heard  voices  in  the  fog,  the  voice  of  M 
Nikitos  giving  strident  orders  and  hoarse  growls  of 
assent  from  the  toiling  boatman.  The  sounds  died 
away  and  I  became  aware  of  other  sounds  close  by, 
the  long  hiss  and  slap  of  the  sea  against  masonry,  and 
voices.  Voices  clamouring  and  protesting  and  call- 
ing aimlessly  and  interjecting  unheeded  remarks  into 
other  voices  engaged  in  torrential  vituperation.  And 
then  my  boatman  stood  up  suddenly,  his  tall  form 
rising  and  falling  into  the  fog  like  some  comic  con- 
trivance as  the  swell  tossed  the  boat  perilously  near 
the  sea-wall,  and  uttered  a  sharp,  monosyllabic 
comment.  The  voices  ceased  as  though  by  magic, 
and  a  grave  question  came  out  of  the  invisible  air, 
which  my  boatman,  leaning  out  and  laying  hold  of 
the  stones,  answered  in  a  quiet  and  competent 
fashion.  You  must  understand  that  I  had  not  seen 
this  man,  yet  he  had  already  made  that  impression 
upon  me.  The  whole  business  to  me,  a  strange  and 
somewhat  exalted  Englishman  sitting  in  a  reeling 
row-boat  and  wondering  whether  he  was  about  to  be 
dashed  to  pieces  against  the  stones,  savoured  of  a 
carefully  rehearsed  performance.  And  when  a  flight 
of  balustraded  marble  steps  came  into  dim  view  and 
a  tall  figure  in  silk  pajamas,  a  fur  overcoat,  and  a  fez 
came  slowly  down  into  the  light  of  our  lantern  I  gave 
up   and   just   waited   for   things   to   happen.    Up 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     225 

above  I  could  now  descry  the  chorus  which  had  been 
creating  such  an  uproar,  a  motley  collection  of  male 
and  female  retainers  in  various  stages  of  undress,  and 
holding  a  number  of  alarming  looking  weapons, 
standing  in  a  row  looking  down  at  us  in  astonish- 
ment. And  I  was  just  feeling  exasperated  at  being 
so  completely  in  the  dark  because  I  could  not  under- 
stand a  word  these  people  were  saying,  when  the 
tall  bizarre  person  in  the  fur  coat  and  pajamas  leaned 
over  and  said: 

"  'I  understand  you  are  an  Englishman  from  one  of 
the  ships?' 

"'Yes,' I  said.  'That  is  so.  What  is  the  matter, 
may  I  ask?' 

"'An  attempt,'  said  he,  'at  robbery  and  perhaps 
upon  my  life.    You  saw  a  boat?' 

"'Yes,'  I  said,  'we  saw  a  boat.  Was  that  the 
man  who  has  been  attempting  robbery?' 

"'The  leader,'  said  he;  'we  have  the  others,'  he 
looked  at  his  retainers,  who  looked  down  at  us  in  a 
most  theatrical  way. 

"  'Do  you  know  who  he  was — the  leader?'  I  asked. 
All  this  time  I  was  sitting  in  the  dancing  boat  while 
the  boatman  fended  her  off  with  his  long  arms. 

"'No,  I  regret  not.' 

"*I  can  tell  you,  if  you  want  to  know,'  I  said. 
He  leaned  down  to  get  a  good  look  at  me,  looked 


226     CAPTAIN  MACEDOmE'S  DAUGHTER 

back  over  his  shoulder,  and  called  in  a  reproving 
voice,  upon  which  one  of  his  minions  flew  down  with 
a  lantern,  and  we  viewed  each  other  in  the  glare. 

"*I  think  it  will  be  better  if  you  accept  my 
hospitality,*  he  said,  studying  me  thoughtfully. 
*My  carriage  will  take  you  back  to  your  ship.'  He 
spoke  again  to  my  man  who  replied  with  grave 
decorum.  I  saw  him  now,  a  tall,  sunburned  fellow 
with  an  immense  black  moustache,  a  round  flat  cap 
on  his  black  head,  and  an  embroidered  coat  with 
innumerable  small  buttons  and  frogs.  He  held  the 
boat  a  little  nearer  in  shore  and  I  stepped  on  to  the 
sea-worn  marble  stairway.  And  without  a  word,  in 
accordance  with  the  magical  nature  of  the  affair,  my 
romantic  boatman,  who  had  borne  me  away  from  my 
youth  and  who  had  proceeded  methodically  to  bear 
me  onward  toward  my  inevitable  destiny,  pushed 
off  with  an  oar  into  the  fog  and  was  lost. 

"And  I  assure  you,"  insisted  Mr.  Spenlove  in  an 
aggrieved  tone,  "that  I  have  the  same  memory  of  the 
scene  which  followed  as  one  has  of  a  complicated 
dream.  I  am  not  prepared,  at  this  moment,  to  go 
into  a  court  of  law  and  swear  to  all  that  passed  be- 
tween myself  and  that  perturbed  gentleman  in  the 
silk  pajamas  and  the  fur  overcoat.  I  was  living  very 
intensely  at  the  time,  you  must  remember.  The 
exact  incidence  of  the  adventure  was  not  clear  to  me 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     227 

until  I  was  back  on  the  ship.  Even  when  we  sat  in 
an  apartment  of  immense  size  and  sombre  magnifi- 
cence, and  he  said  courteously,  'Have  we  by  any 
chance  met  before?'  I  did  not  fully  wake  up.  I 
said: 

"*I  believe  so,  but  I  must  admit  I  have  forgotten 
your  name.' 

"*That  is  easy,'  he  smiled.  *It  is  Kinaitsky.  I 
am  equally  guilty- — more  so,  for  I  am  not  certain 
whether  I  have  seen  you.  .  .  .'he  paused  as  he 
passed  me  some  cigarettes. 

"*At  the -Hotel  in  London,'  I  suggested.     He 

pondered  for  a  moment,  observing  me  intently. 

"'It  would  be  as  well  to  give  me  the  details,'  he 
remarked.  'Since  you  are  about  to  do  me  a  valuable 
service,  I  should  know  to  whom  I  am  indebted.' 

"I  tqld  him.  He  remained  silent  for  quite  a 
while  and  I  sat  enjoying  a  perfect  cigarette  and  an 
almost  equally  perfect  glass  of  wine.  At  length  he 
said : 

'"And  I  understand  that  your  interest  in  this  lady 
has  led  you  here.'^ ' 

'"Oh,  no,'  I  assured  him.  'People  in  my  walk  of 
life  can't  do  things  like  that.  It  just  happens  my 
ship's  charter  was  changed,  that  is  all.  You  can 
call  it  good  luck,  if  you  like,  or  bad.' 

"'Pardon,'  he  said,  studying  me  and  feeling  in  the 


228     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

pocket  of  his  overcoat,  *but  I  am  not  clear  yet  just 
what  your  intentions  are.' 

"'I  don't  know  myself/  I  answered,  foolishly.  'I 
must  see  her  first.  You  understand,  she  wants  to 
see  me,  as  a  friend.'  He  smiled  and  became  grave 
again  at  once. 

"'I,'  he  remarked,  stiffly,  'have  not  seen  her  since 
my  marriage.  I  allow  her  an  income,  of  course.  I 
regard  that  as  a  simple  duty  to  those  who  have  been 
under  my  protection.  I  may  tell  you.  Monsieur, 
that  she  is  quite  free  to  dispose  of  herself.  .  .  . 
But  things  are  very  unsettled  here,  as  you  may 
know.  I  have  large  interests  which  involve  me  in 
political  affairs.  This  present  affair  is  of  that 
nature.  And  I  may  observe  that  you  were  good 
enough  to  say  you  recognized  the  man  who  escaped 
in  that  boat.  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  how  this 
can  be,  but  let  that  pass.     Who  was  he.'^' 

"*I  was  talking  to  him  only  to-day,'  I  returned. 
*He  calls  himself  Stepan  Nikitos,  and  he  told  me  he 
wrote  articles  on  internationalism  in  a  paper  called 
the  Phos.  He  is  the  sort  of  man  who  would  write 
fluently  no  doubt  on  internationalism,  for  he  seems 
to  be  an  Egyptian  Greek  with  a  strain  of  Armenian  in 
him.  Personally,  I  believed  him  to  be  simply  a 
runner  for  a  ship-chandler  of  whom  perhaps  you  have 
heard — Captain  Macedoine.' 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     229 

"M.  Kinaitsky  sat  with  one  arm  on  the  little 
table  between  us  and  regarded  me  from  under  sharp 
black  brows  with  motionless  interest.  As  I  men- 
tioned the  name  of  Captain  Macedoine  he  stroked 
his  moustache,  and  then  drew  his  other  hand  from 
his  pocket  and  placed  on  the  table  a  heavy  American 
revolver. 

"'Pardon,'  he  said,  'but  I  am  unable  to  see  how 
you  come  to  know  this  Nikitos.  .  .  .  Oh,  he  is  a 
ship-chandler,  you  say.  Well,  he  may  be  that  also. 
But  you  are  not  conversant  with  affairs  here  or  you 
would  appreciate  the  danger  of  being  friendly  with 
internationalists.  That  by  the  way.  Your  friend,* 
he  went  on  with  gentle  irony,  'came  here  to-night 
with  three  men  such  as  can  be  hired  for  a  few  drachma 
in  any  of  the  alleys  of  the  CiU  Saul,  to  obtain  some 
important  documents  from  my  safe.  Unfortu- 
nately for  them  the  safe  is  of  the  latest  London 
pattern  with  a  time-lock,  which  I  bought  when  in 
England  last  year.  They  only  succeeded  in  alarming 
my  servants  and  we  secured  the  three  men.  The 
leader,  this  Nikitos,  who  is  well-known  as  one  of 
those  who  sell  information  to  the  Hellenic  Govern- 
ment, a  spy  and  a  harbour  pimp,  escaped.  A  most 
unfortunate  accident.* 

'"But  what  harm  can  such  a  disreputable  being  do 
to  a  man  like  you.''*  I  enquired  in  astonishment. 


230     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

M.  Kinaitsky  spun  the  chambers  of  the  revolver  with 
his  finger. 

"'It  is  impossible,'  he  observed,  calmly,  'to  con- 
ceive of  a  state  of  things  in  which  a  disreputable 
being  can  not  do  harm  to  one  who  cherishes  his 

reputation.     Consider '    he  went  on,  his  finger 

leaving  the  weapon  and  levelled  at  me.  'He  has 
nothing  to  lose.  He  is  the  dupe  of  desperate  and 
cunning  persons  who  wish  to  destroy  the  government. 
He  is  poor,  and  he  probably  is  driven  by  some  woman 
to  obtain  money  for  her  gratification  at  all  costs.' 

"*No/  I  said.  *You  don't  know  M.  Nikitos.  He 
has  a  very  peculiar  attitude  toward  women.  You 
might  almost  call  him  vociferously  virtuous.  Per- 
haps,' I  added,  'you  do  not  know  either  that  he  was 
supjjosed  to  marrj'  Captain  Macedoine's  daughter? 
She  turned  him  out.  They  were  on  the  Island  of 
Ipsilon  together.' 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Spenlove,  "how  I 
expected  him  to  take  this,  but  I  was  surprised  at  his 
composure.  I  did  not  take  into  adequate  considera- 
tion the  fact  that  women  were  not  the  same  phe- 
nomena to  him  that  they  were  to  me.  I  forgot  the 
*four  others'  who  were  being  kept  in  loose  boxes,  so  to 
speak,  out  of  a  deference  to  that  complex  yet  ex- 
tremely admirable  reluctance  of  his  to  abandon  those 
who  had  reposed  in  the  broad  shadow  of  his  pro- 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     231 

tection  and  who  had  been  honoured  by  his  august 
notice.  I  have  never  been  able,  by  the  by,  to  make 
up  my  mind  whether  I  myself  admired  or  loathed 
this  singular  idiosyncrasy. 

"*  You  mean,'  he  questioned,  quietly,  'that  she  was 
his  mistress  on  the  island.'''     I  shook  my  head. 

"*No,'  I  said,  'that's  the  very  thing  I  don't  mean. 
And  as  I  told  you,  Nikitos  has  not  that  temf)era- 
ment.  He  makes  rather  a  hobby  of  his  own  chastity.' 

"M.  Kinaitsky  regarded  me  with  interest.  *I 
mean,'  I  added,  'his  emotions  are  his  mistresses,  so  to 
speak.  There  are  some  men,'  I  went  on  in  doubt- 
ful fashion,  'to  whom  women  make  no  positive  ap- 
peal.    But  perhaps.     .     .     .' 

'"Oh,  undoubtedly!'  he  startled  me  by  agreeing 
with  sudden  emphasis.  'Undoubtedly!  But  if  not 
women,  what?'  he  demanded. 

"'Well,'  I  said,  slowly,  'he  struck  me  as  being  just 
what  you  describe  him — in  with  some  political 
crowd.  I  don't  speak  the  language,  you  must  re- 
member, and  have  only  a  hazy  notion  of  what  all 
this  trouble  is  about,  but  in  the  Cafe  Odeon  I  gathered 
from  various  obscure  hints  that  he  was  part  of  the 
show.  And  another  thing.  Monsieur,  he  certainly 
gave  me  to  understand  that  he  meditated  some  sort 
of  revenge  upon  the  person  who  had  robbed  him  of 
this  girl.     That  was  how  he  put  it,  you  know.     He  is 


232     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

quite  unable  to  believe  that  she  detested  him.  He  is 
ignorant  of  the  details  of  her  life  lately,  I  may  say. 
He  even  suspected  me  of  having  abducted  her. 
Made  some  very  violent  threats,  but  I  put  that  down 
to  his  mania  for  long  words.* 

"M.  Kinaitsky  looked  at  me  with  grave  concern. 

"'This  is  very  serious,'  he  remarked  at  length, 
*very  serious.  It  is  only  a  matter  of  days,  hours, 
before  he  learns  anything  he  wishes.  The  govern- 
ment at  Constantinople  have  been  most  negligent  in 
their  attitude  toward  the  revolutionary  leaders  here.' 

"*What  alarms  you?'  I  enquired. 

"'Everything!'  he  returned,  getting  up  and  walk- 
ing to  and  fro  on  the  polished  parquetry  flooring,  his 
arms  folded,  his  head  bent.  'Everything!'  He 
halted  suddenly  in  his  advance  toward  the  far  end  of 
the  room  which  opened  upon  a  small  byzantine 
balcony  and  looked  at  me  over  his  shoulder. 

"'I  believe,'  he  said,  slowly,  'that  you  are  entirely 
trustworthy ' 

"'I  feel  flattered,'  I  murmured. 

"'But  for  one  thing,'  he  went  on,  'I  cannot  ac- 
count to  myself  for  your  connection  with  Made- 
moiselle Macedoine.  I  ask  myself — what  is  he 
doing  there.'*   I  cannot  answer.* 

"*Why  are  you  so  anxious  about  a  thing  like  that 
when  you  have  so  many  cares? '  I  demanded. 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     233 

"*  Because,'  said  he,  *I  wish  to  make  use  of  you. 
The  news  you  bring  me  to-night  is,  to  me  personally, 
by  reason  of  my  position  here  as  an  Ottoman  subject, 
extremely  important.  I  propose  to  you  that  you 
take  a  package  of  papers  to  my  brother  in  London. 
I  shall  leave  for  Constantinople  by  the  four  o'clock 
train  tomorrow.  If  you  will  call  here  at  three  to- 
morrow I  will  have  them  ready  for  you  and  will  see 
you  safe  to  your  ship  where  no  doubt  you  have  a  safe 
on  board.  I  can  assure  you  that  when  you  deliver 
these  papers  to  my  brother  he  will  reimburse  you  for 
your  trouble.     Or  if  you  prefer ' 

"  *No,'  I  said,  'I  will  do  it  with  pleasure  for  nothing.' 

"'Impossible,'  he  retorted,  gravely,  coming  up  to 
the  table  again.  *It  is  a  commission  and  will  be 
generously  rewarded." 

*"  You  anticipate  trouble  then? '  I  suggested. 

"'Monsieur,'  said  he,  *I  anticipate  the  worst  kind 
of  trouble.  I  have  known  of  it  for  some  time,  but 
the  happenings  of  to-night  prove  that  I  was  mistaken 
as  to  the  time.' 

"'It  will  be  better  if  I  know  nothing  about  it,'  I 
said.  'I  will  call  at  three  or  earlier.  I  have  an 
appointment  ashore  to-morrow  afternoon  but  I  can 
come  here  first.' 

* '  'You  go  to  Mademoiselle  Macedoine,  perhaps  ? '  I 
nodded.     'Give  her  my  respects,'  he  murmured,  re- 


234     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

garding  me  steadily.  *My  respects.  It  would  be 
impertinent  no  doubt  to  refer  again  to  your  own 
future  movements?' 

"And  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Spenlove,  breaking  off 
in  his  narrative  abruptly,  "I  had  no  words  to  reply. 
I  was  stricken  with  a  species  of  intellectual  consterna- 
tion at  the  incredible  gulf  which  separated  me  from 
that  man  emotionally.  I  was  staggered  by  the  vision 
which  persistently  came  before  me  of  those  four  un- 
known women,  quite  possibly  beautiful  young  women, 
though  of  this  I  had  no  actual  proof,  dwelling  in  dis- 
creet seclusion  and  serving  no  useful  purj>ose  in  the 
world  beyond  the  gratification  of  a  plutocrat's 
ego-mania.  If  that  can  be  called  useful.  And  there 
was  also,  in  addition  to  these,  this  girl  whom  I  knew. 
Five  of  them:  and  they  were  not  even  permitted  to 
be  wicked !  And  I  had  to  wrestle  with  this  outrage- 
ous problem  of  our  relative  status  as  human  beings 
at  the  same  time  that  my  own  attitude  toward  this 
girl  was  assuming  an  intensely  personal  character. 
My  soul,  or  that  fugitive  and  ineluctable  entity 
which  does  duty  for  a  sailorman's  soul,  was  stamping 
up  and  down  inside  of  me,  waving  its  arms,  protesting 
with  all  its  suddenly  released  energy  against  this  man, 
denying  him  any  knowledge  of  what  we  call  love,  at 
all.  I  wanted  to  assail  him  with  denunciations  for 
the  monstrous  self-esteem   which   sentenced   those 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     235 

delicate  creatures  to  a  shadowy  and  volitionless  stag- 
nation. I  accused  him  of  the  destruction  of  their 
immortal  souls,  forgetting  in  my  romantic  warmth 
that  in  all  probability  he  didn't  believe  they  had  any. 
But  of  course,  being  an  Englishman,  I  remained  per- 
fectly quiescent  and  inarticulate.  I  believe  I  reached 
for  another  cigarette  before  picking  up  my  hat.  And 
I  dare  say  I  smiled.  We  have  peculiar  ways  of  de- 
fending ourselves  in  such  crises.  He  assumed  a 
puzzled  air  as  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"  'Englishmen  are  ice, '  he  remarked, '  where  women 
are  concerned.  I  have  frequently  observed  it.  Sang 
froid  as  we  say  in  French.  The  phrase  must  have 
been  inspired  by  the  contemplation  of  an  English- 
man.    .     .     .     ' 

*And  we  shook  hands.  I  said  nothing,  which 
doubtless  confirmed  him  in  his  illusions  about  us. 
But  the  point  is,  I  was  equally  mistaken  about  him, 
I  could  not  believe  him  capable  of  what  we  call  love. 
I  was,  as  I  say,  mistaken.  But  as  I  followed  him 
out  to  the  front  of  his  house,  where  his  patient  min- 
ions waited  with  lanterns  which  shed  flickering 
rays  over  enormous  shrubs  and  about  the  trunks 
of  tall  cypresses,  and  stood  at  length  beside  a  fan- 
tastic barouche,  with  a  sleepy  driver  on  the  box,  I 
had  a  moment  of  illumination.  I  asked  myself  why 
I  appUed  this  test  of  love  to  a  man  like  him,  a  man 


236      CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

in  the  midst  of  extraordinary  predicaments — a  man 
who  perhaps  had  suffered  the  pangs  of  hell  for  love 
and  had  recovered,  who  quite  possibly  had  run  up 
and  down  the  whole  gamut  of  human  emotions  while 
I  was  idiotically  spending  my  years  tinkling  on  a 
couple  of  notes.  The  stupid  injustice  of  my  interior 
anger  came  home  to  me,  and  I  sought  again  for  the 
reason  why  I  demanded  of  him  my  own  occidental 
idealism.  The  answer  struck  me  as  unexpectedly 
as  a  sudden  blow.  It  was  because  of  my  own  atti- 
tude toward  the  girl.  As  I  took  my  seat  in  the  car- 
riage and  reached  out  mechanically  to  shake  hands 
once  more,  I  saw  her  as  clearly  as  though  she  were 
there  before  me,  the  bought  chattel  of  a  cultivated 
polygamist,  and  the  blood  rushed  to  my  head  in  a 
sudden  surge.  I  leaned  back  as  the  horses  started  at 
the  crack  of  the  whip.  I  felt  sick  and  humiliatingly 
impotent.  I  saw  Love  and  Romance  for  what  they 
are  in  this  iron  world  of  ours — ragged  outcasts  shiver- 
ing in  the  streets,  the  abject  dependents  of  the  rich. 
And  I  saw  myself  for  what  I  was,  too,  for  the  matter 
of  that,  a  reed  shaken  by  the  winds  of  desire,  an 
emotional  somnambulist  terrified  at  the  apparition 
of  his  own  destiny." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Spenlove  in  reply  to  a  murmured 
protest,  "  I  am  not  libelling  humanity  at  aU.    We  are  a 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     9S7 

very  fine  lot  of  fellows,  no  doubt.  As  I  mentioned 
a  little  while  ago,  the  new  generation  seem  to  be  a 
distinct  advance  in  evolutionary  types  over  us  older 
and  more  imperfect  organisms.  To  watch  a  modem 
youth  with  a  woman,  to  hear  him  recount  his  ex- 
tensive and  peculiar  experiences  with  women,  to 
study  his  detached  and  factory-built  emotions 
toward  women — the  outcome  of  our  modern  craze 
for  quantity-production,  is  an  instructive  and  some- 
what alarming  pastime  for  one  weathering  middle 
age.  An  improvement,  of  course.  All  progress 
means  that,  I  am  informed.  But  I  am  not  telling 
you  the  adventures  of  a  super-man,  only  a  super  in 
the  play.  What?  No,  I  didn't  run  down  love,  as 
you  call  it,  at  all.  My  quarrel  was  not  with  love, 
or  even  the  sexual  manifestation  of  it  which  pre- 
occupies you  all  so  much.  I  simply  doubted  your 
knowledge  of  it.  I  suggested  that  the  majority 
of  men  never  know  very  much  about  it  save  in  a 
scared  and  furtive  fashion.  I  hinted  that  you  never 
fully  realized  the  terrific  importance  of  romantic 
ideas  in  the  world;  that  you  make  a  joke  of  the  whole 
business,  filling  your  rooms  with  pictures  of  well- 
nourished  young  women  in  amorous  p>oses,  filling 
your  minds  with  mocking  travesties  and  sly  anec- 
dotes of  those  great  souls  who  have  left  us  the  records 
of  their  emotional  storms  and  ship-wrecks.     I  am 


2S8     CAPTAIN  MACEDOEsE'S  DAUGHTER 

telling  you  the  story  of  Captain  Macedoine's  daugh- 
ter. Eh?  Well,  I  am  coming  to  that  ...  it 
seems  we  shall  be  here  till  morning. 

"It  once  occurred  to  me,"  he  went  on,  meditatively, 
"that  a  good  deal  of  the  unreahty  of  people  in  books 
is  due  to  the  homogeneity  of  their  emotions.  A 
man  in  love,  for  example,  is  in  love  right  to  the  end, 
or  to  the  point  where  the  mechanism  of  the  story 
renders  it  necessary  to  introduce  another  state  of 
affairs.  Anybody  who  has  been  in  love,  or  cherished 
a  hatred,  or  espoused  a  doctrine,  or  done  anything 
invoking  the  deep  chords,  knows  that  this  is  not  so. 
There  is  the  reaction.  WTien  I  got  aboard  the 
Manola  once  more  and  stood  in  the  middle  of  my 
stuffy  httle  cabin  on  the  port  side  of  the  engine  hatch, 
I  was  a  cold  and  discouraged  pessimist.  The  oil 
lamp  on  my  table  showed  me  my  domain.  A  cock- 
roach was  making  its  way  methodically  round  and 
round  a  covered  plate  of  sandwiches,  while  its  brother 
or  possibly  a  distant  relation  was  enjoying  a  good 
tuck-in  of  the  cocoa  at  the  bottom  of  a  cup.  Down 
below  I  heard  the  bang  of  a  bucket,  and  I  reflected 
that  the  donkey  man,  after  cleaning  his  fires  and 
sweeping  his  tubes,  was  washing  himself  in  the  stoke- 
hold. The  night  watchman  in  the  galley  was  drj'ing 
heavy  flannels  over  the  stove  and  the  warm,  offensive 
odour  hung  in  the  air.     On  the  big  mirror  which  I 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     239 

have  mentioned,  I  saw  a  memorandum  written  with 
a  piece  of  soap:  'Steering  Gear.'  I  recalled  that  I 
must  get  the  Mate  to  take  up  the  slack  in  his  tiller- 
head  in  the  morning.  I  was  overwhelmed  with  the 
hard,  gritty  facts  of  existence,  an  existence  the  most 
discouraging  and  drab  on  earth  I  imagine,  unless 
one  has  some  fine  romantic  ideal  before  one.  And  I 
stood  there,  irresolute,  looking  at  my  figure  in  the 
glass,  which  reminded  me  of  a  badly  painted  ances- 
tral portrait,  and  wondered  whether  I  was  capable 
of  a  fine  romantic  ideal.  There  lies  the  trouble  with 
most  of  us,  I  fancy.  We  lose  our  youth  and  we  fail 
to  lay  hold  of  the  resolution  of  manhood.  And  before 
we  know  it  we  have  drifted  moodily  into  forlorn 
byways  of  sensuality.     .     .     . 

"Because  I  knew  that  if  I  went  to  see  that  girl 
next  day  I  could  no  longer  maintain  a  detached  air 
of  being  a  kind  of  benevolent  and  irresponsible  guard- 
ian. All  the  unusual  and  melodramatic  happenings 
of  the  evening  were  unable  to  blind  me  to  the  basic 
fact  that  our  relations  had  changed,  and  I  dared 
not  follow  them,  even  in  thought,  to  their  logical 
consequences.  And  yet  I  dared  not  retreat.  I  had 
that  much  imaginative  manhood!  I  could  not  face 
a  future  haunted  by  her  questing,  derisive,  contemp- 
tuous smile.  As  I  lay  down  and  watched  the  lamp 
giving  out  its  last  spasmodic  flickers  before  it  left  me 


240     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

in  darkness,  I  thought  I  saw  her,  say  a  year  hence,  m 
a  vague  yet  dreadful  environment,  halting  her  racing 
thoughts  to  remember  for  a  moment  the  man  who 
had  failed  her  in  a  time  of  need.  I  saw  the  shrug 
and  the  sudden  turn  of  the  shoulders,  the  curl  of  the 
lip,  the  evanescent  flash  of  the  eyes.  .  .  .  No, 
I  couldn't  do  it.  And  I  couldn't  forego  the  exquisite 
seduction  of  a  future  glowing  with  the  iridescent 
oolours  of  romantic  folly.     .     .     . 

"And  so,"  said  Mr.  Spenlove,  after  one  of  his 
p«uses,  "I  went.*' 


CHAPTER  Vin 

AND  for  those  who  make  a  hobby  of  th« 
/%  irony  of  fate,  I  remember  that  but  for  the 
JL  IL  innocent  and  haphazard  intervention  of  a 
perfectly  irrelevant  individual,  I  shouldn't 
have  been  able  to  get  ashore  at  all.  I  woke  early. 
For  some  mysterious  reason  connected  with  tonnage, 
the  old  Manola  had  a  small  bathroom  at  the  after 
end  of  the  bridge  deck,  a  most  unusual  appurtenance 
in  a  tramp  steamer  of  her  day,  as  some  of  you  fellows 
know  well  enough.  I  had  fixed  up  a  contraption  by 
which  I  could  pump  sea  water  through  a  home-made 
shower.  I  was  in  this  place  having  a  wash  down  and 
towelling  vigorously  when  I  heard  the  steward  talk- 
ing to  the  cook  outside  the  porthole.  He  was  saying 
that  he  was  going  ashore  to  the  market  to  get  some 
fresh  green  stuff  and  the  cook  was  to  tell  the  old  man 
that  he  would  be  back  by  eight  o'clock.  The  steward, 
an  extremely  quiet  and  modest  creature  with  the 
ferocious  name  of  Tonderbeg,  was  standing  close  by, 
and  the  blue  wreathes  from  his  cigarette  curled  into 
the  port.     He  looked  up  and  saw  me,  making  a 

241 


£42     CAPTAIN  MACEDOmE'S  DAUGHTER 

slight  bow  and  smile,  and  raising  his  hand  in  an  auto- 
matic way  to  the  salute. 

"'Goot  morning,  Mister  Chief,'  he  said.  *A 
fine  morning.  Sir.'  I  conceded  this  and  asked  him  if 
it  was  far  to  the  market. 

"*Not  far.  Just  a  nice  walk  for  a  morning  like 
dis,  Sir.  A  very  interesting  place,  the  market.  In 
the  Old  Town.' 

"*Weir,  I  said,  'if  you'll  wait  a  few  minutes,  I'll 
take  a  walk  up  there  with  you.' 

"His  good-looking  blond  features  became  suffused 
with  a  warm  gratification  and  his  Teutonic  voice 
went  back  into  his  throat,  as  it  were. 

"*  W'y,'  he  announced,  impressively,  *it  would  be  a 
pleasure.  Mister  Chief.  I'll  chust  get  de  sailor  wid 
de  bag.'     And  he  disappeared. 

**And  I  was  mysteriously  elated.  It  is  useless 
to  attempt  any  analysis  of  those  fugitive  gleams 
of  the  future  which  occasionally  distract  our  minds. 
Nevertheless  I  recall  it  now  with  irresistible  convic- 
tion— I  was  mysteriously  elated.  I  filled  my  case 
with  cigarettes,  took  my  cap  and  stick,  went  back  for 
a  handkerchief,  and  slipped  a  couple  of  sovereigns 
into  my  pocket  with  the  idea,  I  suppose,  of  purchas- 
ing fruit.  I  found  my  friend  Tonderbeg  standing 
by  the  gangway  talking  to  the  Captain.  Jack  had 
come  up  in  his  pajamas,  a  remarkable  suit  of  broad 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     243 

purple  and  saffron  stripes,  and  he  stood  there  yawn- 
ing and  rubbing  his  massive  hairy  bosom. 

"*Why,  where  you  been,  Fred?'  he  demanded, 
slyly,  *I'm  surprised  at  you.  I  thought  you  was  a 
respectable  man.' 

"  *  Well,  Jack,'  I  said,  *as  far  as  I  know,  I  am.'  He 
looked  at  me  for  a  moment,  his  head  thrown  back, 
his  powerful  hands  flat  on  his  breast,  and  his  big 
bloodshot  brown  eyes  twinkled. 

"'You  know  what  I  mean,  Fred,'  he  muttered. 
*I'm  only  jokin'.  When  are  you  comin'  back.^  I'm 
goin'  up  to  the  agent's  at  ten.' 

**'0h,  we'll  be  back  to  breakfast.     It  isn't  six  yet.' 

**As  we  walked  along  the  quays,  I  looked  out  be- 
yond the  tiny  harbour  in  which  the  Manola  was 
berthed.  The  waters  of  the  Gulf  lay  like  a  sheet  of 
planished  steel  beneath  a  canopy  of  lead-coloured 
clouds.  A  couple  of  steamers  at  anchor,  their  bows 
pointing  toward  us,  were  reflected  with  uncanny 
exactitude  in  the  motionless  water  below  them. 
And  away  beyond  lay  the  sullen  and  bleak  masses 
of  the  Chalcidice  and  the  far  watershed  of  the  Vardar, 
leading  the  eye  at  length  to  the  immense,  snow- 
streaked  peak  of  Olympos,  flushing  as  some  majestic 
woman  might  flush,  in  the  first  rays  of  the  sun,  hidden 
as  yet  behind  the  symmetrical  cone  of  Mount  Athos. 
I  discovered  that  I  had  stopped  to  look  at  all  this 


«44     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

and  I  realized  with  a  slight  shock  that  Mr.  Tonder- 
beg  was  expressing  his  approval.  He  said  it  was  very 
fine. 

"'You  admire  scenery?'  I  asked  him  as  we  walked 
on. 

***Very  much,'  he  assured  me.  'But  by  scenery 
I  mean  mountains.  They  are  very  elevating,  in  my 
opinion.  Mister  Chief.  Where  I  come  from,  Schles- 
wig,  you  know,  we  have  very  fine  mountains.'  And 
he  coughed  deferentially  behind  his  hand. 

"'What's  your  notion  of  being  elevated?'  I  en- 
quired. 

'"Well,  Mister  Chief,'  he  said  in  a  deep  tone,  *it  is 
only  natural  for  a  respectable  man  to  improve  him- 
self, and  to  cultivate  his  mind,  if  you  know  what  I 
mean.  And  I  find  good  scenery  very  improving. 
It  gives  me  good  ideas.  When  I  come  to  all  dese 
different  places  I  write  home  to  a  little  friend  o' 
mine  and  tell  all  about  it.' 

'**What  does  your  friend  think  about  it?'  He 
smiled. 

"'Well,  Mister  Chief,  when  I  say  a  little  friend  o* 
mine,  I  mean  my  gel  in  North  Shields,  you  under- 
stand. She's  a  school  teacher,  very  well  educated. 
Yes,  I  should  say  she's  had  a  splendid  education. 
She  writes  me  very  fine  letters.  A  fine  thing,  educa- 
tion, Mister  Chief.     For  shore  people,  of  course. 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     245 

People  like  you  an'  me,  goin'  to  sea,  don't  get  it. 
But  I  think  a  man  ought  to  improve  himself  and  cul- 
tivate his  mind.     This  way  up  to  the  market.* 

"I  regarded  Mr.  Tonderbeg  with  a  perfectly  sin- 
cere respect.  On  board  ship  his  efficiency  had  been 
of  that  extreme  kind  which  causes  one  to  lose  sight 
altogether  of  the  individual  responsible  for  it.  He 
had  so  merged  himself  into  the  routine  of  the  day  that 
one  had  difficulty  in  reahzing  his  existence.  And 
in  the  mood  I  was  in  that  morning,  a  mood  of  reck- 
less emotional  adventure,  I  found  a  certain  wicked 
pleasure  in  teasing  him  into  a  foolish  loquacity.  He 
was  evidently  very  anxious  to  talk  to  someone  about 
his  little  friend.  She  corrected  his  mistakes  in  Eng- 
lish grammar,  I  learned,  for  he  mournfully  confessed 
to  many  errors  in  writing.  But  what  impressed  me 
about  him  was  the  astounding  famiharity  he  seemed 
to  have  with  his  destiny.  He  knew  that  an  old 
friend,  a  retired  sea-captain,  would  give  him  a  job 
as  assistant  steward  in  a  certain  *home'  for  the  in- 
digent mariner.  He  knew  that  in  time  he  would  be- 
come steward,  which  would  provide  a  job  for  his  wife. 
He  saw  right  on  into  his  middle  age.  For  all  I 
know  he  knew  just  about  when  he  would  die  and 
where  he  would  go  afterward.  And  he  was  a  good 
ten  years  younger  than  I  was!  All  mapped  out! 
There  seemed  to  be  as  much  adventure  in  the  future 


246     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

for  him  as  for  a  young  and  exemplary  vegetable. 
He  would  grow  old,  and  the  young  person  who  had 
been  afficted  with  a  splendid  education  would  grow 
old  with  him,  immured  in  the  discreet  official  quarters 
of  the  home  for  indigent  seamen.  As  if  a  seaman 
were  ever  anything  else  but  indigent!  And  when  I 
suggested  that  a  trifle  more  pay  for  the  seaman 
would  render  the  home  unnecessary  he  put  his  head 
on  one  side  and  explained  tolerantly  that  they  'would 
only  spend  it  on  booze.' 

"*And  better  do  that  and  die  dead  drunk  than  end 
up  in  a  home,'  I  muttered.  He  didn't  hear  me,  I 
am  glad  to  think  now.  I  should  have  regretted 
the  slightest  scratching  of  the  immaculate  surface 
of  his  respectable  equanimity.  He  was  certainly 
thrown  off  his  balance  a  few  moments  later,  and  it  is 
quite  possible  that  had  he  heard  my  subversive 
remark  he  might  have  abandoned  me  as  hopeless. 
He  maintained  on  the  voyage  home  the  attitude 
of  a  deeply  religious  parent  mourning  for  a  reprobate 
son,  but  not  without  hopes  for  his  ultimate  reclama- 
tion. 

"I  think  our  conversation  ended  there.  I  remem- 
ber we  were  passing  up  a  rather  narrow  and  smelly 
street  where  donkeys,  with  immense  panniers  of  vege- 
table^, were  continually  fouling  each  other,  and  then 
pausing    with    infuriating    composure    while    their 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     247 

fezzed  proprietors  wrenched  them  apart.  And  I 
remember  Mr.  Tonderbeg  insinuating  himself  past 
them  in  a  manner  perfectly  decorous  and  suitable 
in  a  foreigner  among  natives,  yet  accompanied  by  an 
expression  on  his  blond  features  which  seemed  to 
betray  a  regretfully  low  estimate  of  a  population 
deficient  in  the  ability  to  improve  themselves  and 
cultivate  fine  ideas.  I  say  I  remember  this  because 
the  next  time  I  looked  at  him  his  expression  had 
changed.  He  had  flushed  to  a  dark  terra-cotta, 
his  eyes  were  cast  down,  and  his  mouth  was  curled 
into  an  extraordinary  and  complex  sneer  and  grin. 
*Des  women!'  he  said,  hoarsely.  *They  won't  let 
you  alone.  Impudent  pieces!'  And  he  stopped 
at  a  fish  stall.  I  was  going  to  ask  him  what  he  was 
talking  about  when  I  saw  what  had  outraged  his 
modesty.  It  was  Pollyni  Sarafov,  a  big  basket  in 
her  hand,  standing  in  front  of  a  booth  on  the  further 
side  of  the  market  and  waving  to  attract  my  atten- 
tion. I  gave  Mr.  Tonderbeg  a  glance  as  I  left  him, 
abandoned  him.  He  did  not  see  me.  He  was  still 
standing  at  the  fish  stall  examining  a  number  of  loath- 
some cuttle  fish  who  were  regarding  him  with  a 
fixed  and  terrible  stare  from  among  their  many  arms. 
I  went  straight  over  to  the  girl. 

"Mind,  I  don't  blame  Mr.  Tonderbeg  very  much. 
There  was  something  about  that  girl  which  would 


«48     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

give  a  man  like  him  all  sorts  of  alarming  thoughts. 
She  would  not  elevate  him.  She  was  the  negation 
of  respectabihty.  Her  shining  bronze  hair  was  tied 
up  in  a  scarf  of  blue  silk,  her  cotton  dress  was  shock- 
ingly short,  and  her  feet  were  shod  with  a  pair  of  old 
Turkish  slippers.  And  her  basket  contained  a  mis- 
cellaneous assortment  of  esoteric  comestibles  which 
would  later  appear  in  an  astonishingly  appetizing 
form  at  the  table.  She  greeted  me  with  a  naive 
delight,  a  tacit  confidence  that  I  shared  her  view  of 
the  situation,  and  had  managed  to  meet  her  by  some 
tremendous  tour-de-force  of  romantic  intuition. 

"'And  who's  that  man?'  she  demanded,  nodding 
toward  the  respectable  Tonderbeg.  I  looked  at 
him.  He  was  sidling  along  the  booths,  followed  by 
an  impassive  seaman  with  a  neatly  rolled  sack  under 
his  arm,  and  he  was  glancing  stealthily  in  our  direc- 
tion, his  features  almost  dark  with  shame. 

"'That's  our  steward,'  I  told  her.  *He  doesn't 
think  much  of  you.  He  thought  you  were  giving 
him  the  glad  eye,  I'm  afraid.' 

"*Him!'  she  queried,  and  regarded  him  for  a 
moment.  And  then  she  changed  the  subject.  She 
wished  to  know  if  I  was  going  up  to  see  Artemisia. 
And  when  I  hinted  at  the  early  hour,  she  declared 
that  it  was  a  good  time.  She  would  be  so  glad,  she 
thought.     And  when  she  said  she  was  ready,  having 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     940 

bought  all  she  needed,  and  that  a  carriage  was  waiting 
for  her  up  the  hill  near  the  Via  Egnatia,  I  took  her 
basket  and  we  moved  on.  And  we  left  Mr.  Tonderb^ 
behind,  left  him  full  of  the  inward  rage  which  boils 
up  when  envy  and  decorum  are  run  together  in  our 
hearts.  There  was  nothing  the  matter  with  him, 
understand.  I  mean,  there  was  nothing  one  could 
do  for  him.  He  was  one  of  those  bland  human 
organisms  who  simply  fly  right  off  the  handle  when 
they  encounter  a  foreign  morality.  It's  an  ethnical 
problem,  I  suppose.  Why  do  I  tell  you  of  this  Ton- 
derbeg?  Irrelevant?  Well,  but  he  wouldn't  have 
been,  if  I  had  carried  out  the  momentous  scheme  I  had 
in  mind.  I  thought  you  would  have  grasped  that. 
And  I  sometimes  wonder  whether  his  respectable 
mind  had  not  elucidated  some  inkling  of  this  from 
a  word  perhaps  overheard  as  he  passed  the  captain's 
door,  on  the  voyage  home,  and  nursed  a  grievance 
against  fate  for  depriving  him  of  that  piquant  ex- 
perience which  I  had  had  in  store  for  him! 

*'And  when  we  had  climbed  into  the  grubby  little 
hired  hack,  a  very  different  vehicle  from  Mr.  Kin- 
aitsky's  patrician  affair,  and  the  die  seemed  definitely 
cast,  I  found  myself  recalling  again  and  again  a  re- 
mark which  old  Jack  Evans  had  made  his  own.  *A 
man's  a  damn  fool  to  bother  with  a  gel  at  all,  unless 
he's  going  to  marry  her!'     The  ripe  fruit  of  his  ex- 


250     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

perience  in  the  world!  I  had  agreed  with  him,  too. 
I  recalled  his  short,  stout,  unromantic  figure  standing 
in  an  authoritative  attitude  with  his  hand  on  the 
rail,  looking  across  the  blue  glitter  of  the  Mediterran- 
ean, seeing  nothing  of  it,  dreaming  of  that  semi- 
detached affair  in  Threxford  which  contained  the 
angel  child  and  her  desiccated  mother.  It  is  easy 
enough  and  indicative  of  wisdom  to  agree  in  such 
cases.  But  I  would  remind  you  that  I  had  no  such 
dream  of  the  future  in  my  head  as  I  sat  beside  this 
foreign  girl  and  drove  along  the  Via  Egnatia  to  meet 
Captain  Macedoine's  daughter  once  more.  With 
more  experience  of  the  world  of  sentiment  I  might 
possibly  have  gone  so  far  as  to  envisage  the  probable 
outcome  of  the  adventure.  But  the  point  is  that 
for  all  my  thirty-five  years,  I  had  no  such  experience 
at  all.  And  women  are  quick  as  lightning  to  per- 
ceive this.  You  can  bring  them  nothing  which  they 
prize  with  such  tender  solicitude  as  a  mature  and  in- 
experienced heart.  Neither  callow  adolescence  nor  a 
smart  worldly  knowledge  of  their  own  weaknesses 
is  any  match  for  it.  And  why?  Well,  I  imagine  it 
is  because  they  feel  safe  without  losing  any  of  the 
perilous  glamour  of  love.  It  gives  the  fundamental 
maternal  instinct  in  their  bosoms  full  scope  without 
embarrassing  them  with  either  a  puling  infant  or  a 
doddery  prodigal.    It  may  even  play  up  to  a  rudi- 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     251 

mentary  desire  to  be  not  merely  the  agent  of  an  in- 
stinct but  the  inspiration  of  an  individual.  Clever- 
ness in  a  woman  is  very  often  only  the  objective 
aspect  of  fidelity  to  an  ideal. 

"You  may  imagine  I  said  nothing  of  this  to  the 
girl  beside  me.  Instead  I  asked  her  when  she  was 
going  to  get  married,  and  she  said  'By  and  by.' 
When  he  came,  not  before.  It  was  obvious  that  she 
awaited  her  destiny  without  misgiving  and  that  she 
was  at  that  stage  when  women  really  love  vicariously 
or  not  at  all.  For  she  suddenly  demanded  if  I  was 
going  to  take  Artemisia  away  to  England  when  my 
ship  sailed.  We  had  turned  out  of  the  noisy  Via 
Egnatia  and  were  climbing  a  steep,  narrow  street  lead- 
ing toward  the  citadel,  a  street  of  an  extraordinary 
variety  of  architecture,  whose  houses  lunged  out 
over  the  roadway  in  coloured  balconies  and  bellying 
iron  grilles.  And  the  whole  barbaric  vista  led  the 
eye  inexorably  upward  till  it  caught  the  culminating 
point  of  a  lofty  and  slender  minaret  springing  from  a 
clump  of  cypresses  and  glittering  white  in  the  morn- 
ing sun.  The  street  itself  was  still  in  cool  shadow, 
and  at  the  doors,  kneeling  upon  the  fantastic  little 
pavSs  of  mosaic,  or  rubbing  pieces  of  polished  brass, 
were  bare-footed  women  with  picturesque  dresses  and 
formidable  ankles. 

"Yes,  she  wanted  to  know,  but  I  discovered  just 


252     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

then  that  a  man  may  work  himself  up  to  a  certain 
high  resolution  without  feeling  either  proud  or  happy. 
One  seems  to  go  into  great  affairs  in  a  kind  of  pre- 
occupied daze.  It  is  possible  the  Latin,  the  Celt,  and 
the  Slav  have  the  power  to  visualize  themselves 
objectively  when  they  assume  an  heroic  character. 
We  are  singularly  deficient  in  this  respect,  I  observe. 
No  Englishman  is  a  hero  to  himself.  And  a  merciless 
analyst  might  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  my  entire  be- 
haviour was  no  more  estimable  than  M.  Kinaitsky's, 
that  I  had  but  one  selfish  motive,  which  was  to 
protect  myself  from  a  woman's  contempt.  Viewed 
at  a  distance,  I  believe  there  was  more  in  me  than 
that.  There  is  a  radiant  glow  about  it  all,  for  me, 
which  convinces  that  for  once  I  had  laid  hold  of 
the  real  thing.  A  magnificent  memory!  It  is 
something,  I  submit,  to  cherish  in  one's  heart 
even  a  solitary  episode  untarnished  by  any  ignoble 
shame. 

"'You  shall  see,  my  dear,'  I  said,  enigmatically, 
and  then  the  carriage  stopped  with  a  jerk  and  she 
appeared  in  a  suddenly  opened  doorway,  bursting 
out,  as  it  were,  holding  herself  back  with  her  hands 
on  the  posts  and  devouring  me  with  a  look  of  extraor- 
dinary questing  delight.  It  was  as  though  she 
wished  to  divine  the  very  roots  of  my  emotions.  I 
sat  there,  a  tongue-tied  fool,  until  Pollyni  pushed  me 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     «53 

gently.  Why  didn't  I  get  out?  So  I  got  out  and 
stood  before  her. 

"  She  was  changed.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  had 
the  wit  to  expect  that,  but  the  fact  remains  that  my 
first  feeling  was  astonishment.  She  stood  a  foot  or  so 
above  me  on  the  doorstep,  and  this  vantage,  together 
with  a  species  of  gravity  in  her  demeanour,  conveyed 
an  impression  of  tall  aloofness.  As  she  stood  there, 
composed  and  curious,  in  a  loose  blue  gown  and  her 
hair  spread  around  her  shoulders,  the  fine  pale  olive 
of  her  forearms  emerging  and  her  fingers  lightly 
laced,  one  thought  of  vestal  virgins,  priestesses  of 
obscure  cults,  and  of  the  women  who  figure  in  the 
fantastic  stories  of  the  Middle  Ages.  She  was 
changed,  and  the  diflicult  element  in  the  case  was 
that  she  seemed  to  have  changed  for  the  better. 
And  suddenly  the  old  familiar  derisive  smile  broke, 
the  white  teeth  drew  in  the  red  lower  lip,  and  she 
put  her  hand  on  my  shoulder.  '  Come  in,'  she  said  in 
a  low  voice.  *I  never  really  believed  you  would 
come  at  all!  And,  Polly  dear,'  she  added  to  the  girl 
in  the  carriage,  'won't  you  come  up  later  and  we'll  go 
out — ^you  know '  and  she  waved  her  hand  up- 
ward. 

"'I'll  come,'  said  Miss  Sarafov  with  decision,  and 
spoke  rapidly  to  the  driver,  who  turned  his  horses 
round  and  began  the  descent  to  the  Via  Egnatut. 


254     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

"'So  you  have  come  at  last,'  said  Captain  Mace- 
doine's  daughter,  as  we  reached  a  small  room  opening 
on  a  balcony  above.  There  was  another  small  room 
behind  and  this  seemed  to  be  the  extent  of  her 
domain. 

"'Yes,'  I  said,  'and  now  I  am  here,  tell  me  what 
you  think  of  it  all.' 

"'Think  of  what.?*'  she  demanded,  sitting  down 
near  me. 

"'Well,'  I  replied,  'of  our  relations  chiefly.  What 
am  I  supposed  to  be.'^  WTiat  do  you  want  of  me.'* 
You  see,'  I  went  on,  slowly,  'I  have  thought  a  great 
deal  about  you  ever  since  you  called  me  to  London. 
A  great  deal,  I  assure  you.  But  I  am  not  a  very 
courageous  person,  my  dear,  and  I  am  afraid  of  my 
thoughts  running  away  from  me.  I  should  not  like 
you  to  think  me  a  fool,  you  know.' 

'"I  should  never  do  that,'  she  remarked  in  a  low 
murmur.     'You  are  my  true  friend,  I  know.' 

"  'And  what  is  a  true  friend  to  do  for  a  girl  in  your 
position  .f*'  I  asked,  bluntly,  looking  round  the  tiny 
chamber  with  its  red  and  white  tiled  floor  and 
octagonal  tables.  She  looked  at  me  for  a  moment 
and  then  out  of  the  window,  and  sighed. 

"'Aren't  you  happy  here?'  I  asked.  She  con- 
tinued to  look  out  of  the  window  while  she  answered 
me. 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     255 

"  *Do  you  want  me  to  be  quite  plain? '  she  enquired. 
'Well,  then,  I  will  tell  you  that  except  this,'  and  she 
made  a  gesture  indicating  her  surroundings,  *  there  is 
nothing  for  me  to  do.  If  I  leave  here  where  shall  I 
go?  This  is  a  funny  place,  I  can  tell  you.  And  this 
won't  last  forever,  either,  even  if  I  wanted  it  to.' 

*'*But  why  can't  you  go  and  look  after  your 
father?'  I  asked,  helplessly. 

"'Because  I  told  him  a  lot  of  lies  about  being 
married,'  she  said,  sharply,  *and  I  would  rather  die 
than  tell  him  I'm  somebody's  keep.' 

"'You  needn't  have  said  that,'  I  said,  unsteadily, 
'and  you  needn't  tell  him  anything  of  the  sort. 
Tell  him  just  whatever  you  please  and  I  will  back  you 
up  and  make  it  the  truth.' 

"  *  What  makes  you  say  I  needn't  have  said  it?'  she 
asked,  looking  full  at  me.     'You  asked,  didn't  you?* 

"'Well,  it  hurt  me  for  one  thing,'  I  told  her,  'and 
for  another,  being  bitter  won't  help  matters.  Do  you 
suppose  I  haven't  a  pretty  good  idea  of  your  situa- 
tion here?  And  if  I  hadn't  had  any  intention  of 
helping  you,  why  should  I  have  come?  I  promised 
you  I  would  always  be  your  friend,  because  I  had 
never  met  any  one  so  forlorn.  And  I  will  keep  that 
promise  to  the  limit.  And  now,'  I  added,  'suppose  I 
told  you  what  happened  last  night.' 

"She  sat  perfectly  still,  watching  me  while  I  re- 


556     CAPTAIN  MACEDOESTE'S  DAUGHTER 

counted  my  singular  adventure  with  M.  Kinaitsky. 
It  was  only  when  I  mentioned  what  he  had  said  of 
her  being  quite  free  to  dispose  of  herself  that  she 
gave  a  quick,  sarcastic  shrug. 

"'I  know,'  she  said.  'So  he  told  me  when  he  got 
married.  But  this  is  a  funny  place,  I  can  tell  you. 
You  think  I  can  walk  out  of  this  house  and  do  what  I 
like,  get  a  job,  rent  a  house?  I  can't.  He  knows 
well  enough  I'm  stuck  here  unless  I  go  to  the 
Omphale  or  the  Ottoman  House,  or  one  of  those 
horrible  places.  And  then,*  she  added,  *it  wouldn't 
be  long  before  I'd  be  sitting  in  the  Odion  half  the 
night  and  wishing  I  was  dead.' 

"'You  know,' I  said,  severely,  'that  if  you  had  the 
slightest  intention  of  doing  anything  of  the  sort  you 
wouldn't  breathe  a  word  of  it  to  me  of  all  people.' 

"For  a  moment  she  held  out,  smirking  a  little. 

"'You  fancy  yourself,'  she  said,  quoting  a  by-gone 
London  phrase. 

"'To  that  extent,'  I  insisted.  '"VNTiat  do  you 
suppose  I  came  up  here  for?  ^Tiy  did  I  wander  all 
over  Saloniki  last  night  trying  to  find  you?  To 
hear  you  say  things  like  that?  WTiat  do  you  sup- 
pose I  am  made  of?    Listen!' 

"I  don't  suppose  men  often  tell  a  woman  the 
things  I  told  her  then,  but  it  was  imperative  that  I 
should  clear  away  the  difficulties  between  us.    I  had 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     «67 

to  convince  her  that  I  was  not  to  be  humbugged  by 
her  fatal  inherited  procUvity  for  a  grandiose  emo- 
tional role,  a  proclivity  for  playing  up  to  some 
mysterious  imaginary  being  which  she  labelled  her- 
self and  strove  to  erect  in  the  mind  of  her  protagonist. 
It  wouldn't  do.  There  was  something  numbing  in 
the  spectacle  of  her  attempt  to  present  herself  as 
already  a  painted  shadow  in  the  purlieus  of  a  Levan- 
tine city.  In  the  long  blue  dressing  gown,  against  a 
lemon-tinted  stone  wall,  the  morning  sun  irradiating 
the  exquisite,  exotic  face,  she  had  an  adult  air,  so  to 
speak,  an  air  of  lovely  maturity  and  grave  virtue.  I 
would  say  she  looked  much  more  like  a  saint  than  a 
sinner,  if  I  could  reach  any  satisfactory  conclusions  as 
to  the  nature  of  a  saint.  I  talked,  as  they  say, 
straight,  and  the  culmination  of  my  invective  was  a 
blunt  statement  about  her  intelligence. 

"'You  aren't  clever  enough  to  be  as  bad  as  you 
try  to  make  out,'  I  said,  and  she  looked  down  at  her 
hands. 

"'AH  the  same,*  she  remarked  almost  to  herself, 
'you  are  taking  an  awful  risk  in  talking  to  me  like 
this.  How  do  you  know  I  shouldn't  go — go  to  pot 
altogether,  later  on?  I'm  thinking  of  you,  you 
know,'  she  added. 

"'There  you  go  again!'  I  exclaimed.  She  put  up 
her  hand  as  a  token  of  surrender,  and  there  came  into 


258     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

her  voice  that  unforgettably  alluring  timbre  which, 
as  I  told  you  before,  evoked  mysterious  memories  and 
invested  her  with  an  extraordinary  quality  which  one 
might  almost  describe  as  spiritual  iridescence,  a 
glamour  of  sybillant  charm  and  delicious  abandon." 


"And  there,  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Spenlove  in  a 
low  tone,  "the  story  ought  to  finish.  That's  where, 
when  I  recall  the  whole  history  of  Captain  Mace- 
doine's  daughter,  I  should  like  it  to  finish — on  a  final 
note  of  a  supreme  memory  of  that  day.  I  would 
have  had  it  forever  wrapped  in  the  gracious  radiance 
of  romance.  "Which,  I  suppose,  is  more  than  is 
granted  to  any  of  us.  So,  though  it  would  not  do  for 
me  to  break  the  silence  in  which  one  buries  the 
fragrant  bodies  of  dead  moments,  there  is  something 
more  to  tell.  Of  M.  Nikitos,  for  example,  and  the 
reproaches,  courteously  worded,  of  M.  Kinait- 
sky.     .     .     . 

"We  went  for  what  in  England  we  would  call  a 
picnic.  Pollyni  came  back  about  ten,  in  a  fresh 
carriage  whose  driver  had  celebrated  a  day's  con- 
tract by  coloured  ribbons  on  the  horses'  head-stalls 
and  a  dark  red  rose  thrust  over  one  of  his  own  ears,  in 
bizarre  contrast  to  the  almost  incredible  dilapidation 
of  his  clothes.     An  old  woman,  whose  features  were 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     259 

shrivelled  to  the  colour  and  consistency  of  a  peeled 
walnut,  placed  between  our  feet  a  basket  out  of  which 
stuck  the  necks  of  wine  bottles.  I  didn't  ask  where  we 
were  going,  for  I  didn't  care.  I  remember,  however, 
demanding  an  explanation  of  the  heavy  explosions 
which  had  begun  somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood, 
and  their  telling  me  it  was  a  blasting  party  in  a 
quarry  just  behind  the  houses  and  outside  the  city 
wall.  And  I  recall  another  incident,  when  we  reached 
the  barrier  at  the  Great  Tower,  where  a  squad  of 
fezzed  and  moustached  guards  debated  among  them- 
selves the  wisdom  of  permitting  us  to  pass  out. 
Very  serious,  not  to  say  uneasy,  they  seemed,  the 
heavy  explosions  causing  them  to  look  over  their 
shoulders  apprehensively  even  while  they  held  their 
bayonets,  long,  sharp,  unpleasant  affairs,  across  the 
breasts  of  the  horses.  But  finally  they  let  us  go,  and 
after  a  half  hour  or  so  of  the  boulevards  we  came  to  a 
road  leading  across  the  plain  to  a  town  a  few  miles 
away.  That  is  a  memory,  too — the  wide  plain  of 
pale  saffron  earth,  the  dancing  blue  sea,  the  turquoise 
sky  piled  here  and  there  with  immense  snowy  billow- 
ings  of  autumn  clouds,  the  girdle  of  grim  and  in- 
accessible peaks,  and  the  compact  little  town  of 
white  houses  buried  in  a  circular  plaque  of  foliage  in 
the  middle  distance.  And  then  at  the  roadside, 
squatting  on  their  haunches  with  their  rifles  between 


260     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

their  knees,  very  dusty  and  enigmatic,  lines  of 
soldiers  on  the  march.  I  remember  it  as  one  re- 
members an  unusual  dream,  a  vague  blur  behind  the 
harper  memories  that  intervene. 

"And  out  of  the  mists  of  impressions  came  the 
fact  that  we  were  going  to  this  toy  town  in  the  middle 
distance  to  visit  Pollyni's  uncle,  a  gentleman  who 
had  been  to  America  also,  and  having  dug  trenches  for 
drains  and  conduits  in  New  York  City  for  a  year  or 
two,  had  returned  and  bought  the  principal  cafe  in 
the  village.  There  was  a  moment  when  the  place 
lost  the  qualities  of  a  water-colour  painting  and 
began  to  assume  the  asf>ects  of  reality,  when  the 
homogeneous  colouring  of  the  land  became  broken  up 
into  tobacco  fields  and  vineyards  and  vegetable 
patches,  with  an  occasional  pony  walking  roimd  a 
mediaeval  contraption  which  brought  minute  buckets 
of  water  up  from  a  well  and  trickled  them  into  a 
wooden  sluice.  And  these  in  turn  gave  place  to  a 
sketchy  and  winding  earthen  road  which  twisted 
among  shabby  houses  with  forlorn  sheds  in  which 
tobacco  leaves  hung  drying  on  poles,  and  fowls 
pecked  in  a  disillusioned  fashion  while  they  meditated 
upon  the  formidable  problem  of  existence.  And 
then  we  passed  houses  standing  aloof  and  forbidding, 
shut  up,  apparently  uninhabited,  houses  which  had 
quite  simply  tumbled   down  for  lack  of  support, 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     261 

houses  with  the  front  door  upstairs,  and  houses  with- 
out any  doors  at  all  as  far  as  one  could  see.  We 
passed  them  and  our  driver  cracked  his  whip  with 
great  energy,  the  horses  stumbled  against  big 
stones  or  into  rain  gullies,  an  occasional  human 
stared  woodenly  at  us;  and  suddenly  we  came  round 
an  intricate  curve  of  the  street  and  we  were  in  the 
little  square  of  the  village,  a  square  canopied  by  an 
immense  tree  and  overhanging  eaves.  In  the 
centre  stood  a  worn  old  well-curb  where  bare- 
legged girls  fished  up  dripping  petroleum  cans 
and  staggered  across  to  open  doors,  most  of  the 
water  running  unregarded  through  a  hole  in  the 
bottom.  If  you  could  call  it  a  square,  when  it  had 
six  or  seven  irregular  sides,  with  the  streets  running 
into  it  in  a  furtively  tangential  fashion  and  the 
comers  of  it  cool  and  dark  even  at  noon-tide  under 
that  patriarchal  tree  which  had  been  planted  by  a 
patriarch,  no  doubt,  while  he  was  digging  the  well. 
This  was  the  end  of  our  journey,  where  we  got  out, 
and  the  carriage  rumbled  away  into  the  green  gloom 
beyond  to  some  convenient  stable,  while  we  were 
welcomed  by  a  gentleman  with  a  soft  voice  and  very 
loud  western  clothing  like  that  affected  by  race-track 
folk,  who  stood  in  front  of  an  extremely  vacant  look- 
ing cafe.  He  had  a  watch-chain  with  massive  gold 
links  and  an  enormous  obsolete  gold  coin  depending 


262     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

from  his  coat  lapel.  His  boots  were  shiny  and 
globular  of  toe,  and  I  gathered,  as  the  day  wore  on, 
that  he  represented  Occidental  Prosperity  in  that 
simple  community  and  was  charitably  excused  from 
such  glaring  solecisms  on  that  ground.  They  found 
no  fault  with  him  for  having  an  adventurous  spirit 
which  had  carried  him  to  the  Country  of  the  Mad 
beyond  the  sea,  for  he  had  shown  his  ultimate 
wisdom  by  coming  back  to  live  in  a  civilized  part  of 
the  world.  In  fact,  by  the  way  they  drifted  in  during 
the  afternoon  and  sat  at  adjacent  tables  while  he  held 
forth  bilingually  upon  his  experiences  in  a  Hoboken 
sewer,  it  was  evident  that  in  addition  to  being  a 
stout  burgess  of  the  township,  he  was  a  species  of 
Sinbad  to  them,  with  preposterous  but  intriguing 
stories  of  subterranean  cities  where  vast  and  brilliant 
chariots  roared  through  interminable  passages;  of 
heaven-scaling  towers  where  myriads  fought  for 
sUks  and  jewels,  for  gold  and  silver,  for  purple  and 
fine  hnen;  of  streets  above  which  insane  railway 
trains  hurtled  and  shrieked  and  groaned  as  they 
carried  the  demented  inhabitants  on  endless  journeys 
to  nowhere  in  particular  for  no  ascertainable  reasons. 
For  mind  you,  they  displayed  no  desire  whatever  to 
emulate  the  daring  feats  of  those  who  had  gone  to 
America.  They  sat  there  for  a  time,  smoking 
narghUehs  or  cigarettes,  looking  thoughtfully  at  the 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     263 

floor  between  their  outlandish  shoes,  and  then 
drifted  away  to  attend,  it  is  to  be  presumed,  to 
various  affairs.  I  doubt  whether  my  confirmation  of 
these  improbabihties  was  of  much  avail  in  convincing 
them  that  he  was  not  simply  exercising  the  ancient 
rights  of  the  teller  of  tales,  and  striving  to  terrify 
them  with  stories  of  genii  in  bottles  and  carpets  that 
flew  through  the  air.  And  he  certainly  had  no  in- 
tention of  going  back.  He  had  'enough  mon'  now,' 
he  remarked,  'and  who  but  a  lunatic  would  ever 
venture  into  such  a  pandemonium  save  for  the  pur- 
pose of  getting  "mon".'  The  bare  idea  of  Hving 
permanently  in  that  country  and  exposing  one's  soul 
to  the  destructive  action  of  their  peculiar  political 
ideas  had  never  entered  his  head.  They  had  called 
him  *a  crazy  mutt'  because,  forsooth,  he  had  quit 
when  his  belt  was  sufficiently  loaded  with  *mon'. 
Now  why  should  they  do  that.'*  Why  should  he  go  on 
living  in  hell  when  he  had  the  price  of  paradise 
strapped  about  his  middle  .^^  It  was  a  baffling 
problem.  Yet  they  did  it.  Even  now,  as  he  spoke, 
out  there  across  the  world,  millions  of  people  on  an 
island  the  size  of  Ipsilon  or  even  smaller  than  Naxos, 
were  rushing  to  and  fro  like  maniacs.  For  of  course 
he  was  under  the  impression  that  Manhattan,  with 
the  adjacent  coast  beyond  the  river,  was  all  there  was 
of  America.     For  all  he  knew  the  subway  ran  to 


264     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

San  Francisco  and  New  Orleans  was  a  mile  or  two 
below  Staten  Island.  Listening  to  hini,  it  was 
perfectly  easy  to  visualize  the  growth  of  ancient 
tales  of  foreign  parts.  When  I  think  of  him  nowa- 
days, and  observe  the  noise  and  chaffering  of  political 
people  who  are  vociferously  claiming  for  such  as  he 
what  they  call  self-determination  or  what  in  those 
illiterate  days  was  known  as  autonomy,  I  am  con- 
strained to  a  great  amazement.  We  shall  see  some 
strange  signs  and  portents  later,  if  I  am  not  in 
error. 

"For  if  there  is  one  thing  more  than  another  which 
one  gets  from  this  old  land,  it  is  the  conviction  that  it 
will  not  cease  to  be  old  because  a  few  zealots  march 
round  it  blowing  the  trumpets  of  a  new  and  in- 
comprehensible thing  called  Liberty.  It  is  an 
amiable  but  disastrous  illusion  on  the  part  of  the 
western  nations  that  they  have  created  a  monopoly 
in  freedom  and  truth  and  the  right  conduct  of  life. 
As  I  have  adumbrated  to  you  more  than  once,  I  am 
not  so  sure  of  all  this.  The  hoarse,  guttural  voice  of 
Griinbaum,  whom  the  high  priests  of  Liberty  set 
against  a  wall  the  other  day  and  shot  dead,  comes 
back  to  me  across  the  years.  'An  illusion,  founded 
on  a  misconception.'  Well,  I  wouldn't  call  that  an 
entirely  true  definition  of  democracy  as  we  in  the 
west  understand  it.     But  if  you  took  tliis  late  resi- 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     265 

dent  of  Hoboken,  now  safely  restored  to  his  tradi- 
tional environment,  I  should  certainly  say  that  your 
wonderful  democracy  was  of  no  more  use  to  him  than 
some  fabulously  expensive  and  delicate  scientific 
instrument,  or  the  Bodleian  Library  at  Oxford,  or  the 
Elgin  marbles  would  be.  The  trouble  is,  you  see, 
that  so  many  of  us  in  the  world,  inarticulate  for  the 
most  part,  don't  want  your  progress,  your  tre- 
mendous journeys  through  the  air,  your  new  religions, 
or  your  improved  breakfast  foods.  And  we  could 
endure  even  such  a  war  as  is  going  on  now,  if  we  only 
had  peace  in  our  hearts.  For  peace  is  not  a  merely 
negative  thing,  the  absence  of  strife.  It  is  something 
in  itself,  something  you  could  definitely  discern  in  the 
atmosphere  of  that  forgotten  village  of  the  plain, 
under  that  patriarchal  tree,  audible  in  the  clucking  of 
the  fowls  under  one's  feet,  and  in  the  gurgle  of  the 
water  the  girls  hauled  up  from  the  dank  darkness  of 
the  old  well.  I  recall  one  moment,  after  our  meal  in 
the  late  afternoon,  as  we  sat  on  the  little  balcony  above 
the  cafe,  smoking  cigarettes  and  drinlcing  coffee  and 
mastic.  A  drowsy  stillness  had  come  over  the  place, 
as  though  it  had  been  secretly  enchanted.  Over  the 
way  an  old  gentleman  reposed  in  a  chair  outside  his 
shop,  asleep,  a  yellow  cat  in  his  arms.  On  the  curb 
of  the  well  a  young  girl  sat  swinging  one  leg  as  she 
peered  down  thoughtfully  into  the  water.     A  pigeon 


266     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

cooed  in  the  cot  under  the  eaves  near  by.  There 
was  a  low  murmur  of  conversation  from  a  neighbour- 
ing room  where  Pollyni  was  talking  to  her  aunt,  a 
large  shy  person,  preoccupied  with  household  cares. 
And  gradually  I  seemed  to  lose  my  grip  of  reality 
altogether  and  passed  into  a  kind  of  passionless 
ecstasy  of  existence,  where  everything  which  puzzles 
us  in  ordinary  life  presented  a  perfectly  simple  and 
amiable  solution.  One  of  the  commonplaces  of 
enchantment,  I  suppose.  I  became  aware  of  Arte- 
misia saying  dreamily:  *That  was  a  loud  one.  I 
shouldn't  have  thought  we  could  hear  them  over 
here.'  And  I  nodded,  remembering  a  distant  and 
heavy  detonation.  It  was  slowly  dawning  on  my 
mind  as  I  sat  and  smoked  and  murmured,  that  it  was 
really  quite  impossible  for  the  quarry-charges  to  be 
heard  so  far.  *But  what  could  it  be.'*'  she  asked, 
rousing.  *A  gun  perhaps.  Sometimes  ships  come 
from  the  Bosphorus  and  fired  shots  in  the  Gulf.  A 
long  way  off,  of  course.  Perhaps  a  ship  had  come.' 
I  told  her  what  her  father  had  said  the  night  before, 
that  a  war  might  come  soon.  She  nodded  and  was 
silent  a  moment  before  saying:  'I've  heard  that. 
Mrs.  Sarafov  said  it  might  and  she  was  sorry  because 
nobody  was  ever  any  better  off.  They  fight  because 
the  taxes  are  so  heavy,  and  after  the  war  the  taxes 
are  worse  than  ever,  to  pay  for  the  war.     She  told  me 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     267 

how  the  soldiers  came  home  to  Sofia  after  winning  a 
war  with  the  next  country — I  forget  which — and 
there  was  a  grand  triumphal  march  through  the 
streets,  and  then  the  soldiers  discovered  there  was 
nothing  for  them  to  eat  and  they  broke  loose. 
Everybody  locked  themselves  up  in  their  houses 
while  the  shooting  went  on  in  the  streets. ' 

"'I  believe/  I  said,  'your  father  stands  to  make  a 
lot  of  money  out  of  this  trouble  when  it  comes.' 

"She  turned  quickly  toward  me  but  without  taking 
her  arms  from  the  ledge  of  the  balcony,  pressing  her 
adorable  chin  against  her  arm. 

"'I  know  this,'  she  said  steadily,  'today  has  made 
it  impossible  to  go  back  to  my  father.  I  don't 
mean  for  the  reason  that  I  mentioned  this  morning. 
Another  reason.'     And  she  sighed. 

"'What  is  that  reason?'  I  asked  gently. 

"'I'm  a  very  unfortunate  girl,'  she  muttered  in  a 
hoarse  whisper,  still  looking  steadily  at  me  over  her 
arm.  'I  want  to  tell  you  so  many  things,  and  I 
can't,  I  can't.' 

"  'But  tell  me  the  reason,'  I  persisted. 

"  'Oh  you  must  know  ...  I  must  get  clear  of 
the  past — and  the  present.  I  must  not  tell  you  the 
things  I  know.  Let  me  alone  .  .  .  and  perhaps 
in  England  I  shall  forget.' 

"And  after  that,  of  course,  nothing  could  befall  us 


268     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

save  a  silence,  in  which  we  endeavoured  to  adjust  our- 
selves to  the  new  emotion.  For,  mind  you,  I  believe 
sometimes  it  would  have  worked  out.  She  was  a 
woman,  and  I  believe  that  she  would  have  conquered 
her  destiny  if  she  had  gotten  her  chance.  .  .  . 
No  matter — a  bald  statement  of  belief  gets  us  no- 
where. So  I  shall  remember  her  looking  at  me  in  her 
enchanting  fashion  over  her  arm,  a  light  in  her  eyes 
like  a  light  in  the  darkness  at  sea,  flashing,  and  flashing 
and  going  out.     .     .     . 

"And  it  was  after  this  silence  had  endured  for  a 
while  that  our  attention  was  drawTi  from  our  own 
thoughts  by  a  strange  commotion.  A  number  of  the 
villagers  suddenly  appeared  from  round  the  corner  of 
the  street  where  we  had  come,  preceding  a  carriage 
which  moved  slowly,  being  hampered  by  the  people 
who  pressed  close  to  it  all  round.  As  if  by  magic  the 
people  of  the  houses  opening  upon  the  little  square 
appeared  at  the  doors  and  joined  the  crowd.  And 
then,  as  the  carriage  arrived  beneath  us,  it  halted,  and 
the  horses  looked  round  toward  the  well,  and  we  saw 
on  the  seat  of  the  carriage  a  man  in  some  military 
uniform,  a  captain  I  imagine,  lying  diagonally  across 
the  vehicle,  a  handkerchief  soaked  in  blood  about  his 
throat,  a  gash  near  one  eye,  and  evidently  a  wound  of 
some  sort  in  the  arm,  for  his  hand,  which  pressed 
against  the  cushion,  seemed  to  have  adhered  to  it 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     269 

with  the  blood  running  down  the  sleeve.  The  man's 
dark  features  had  grown  livid  and  his  head  lolled  back 
with  closed  eyes  and  sagging  mouth.  And  then 
Pollyni  came  in  quickly  to  fetch  us  down,  and  we 
went. 

"Our  host,  who  stood  by  the  carriage  bareheaded 
and  looking  about  him  first  toward  one  speaker  and 
then  another,  gathering  the  scattered  details  of  the 
story,  had  already  sent  a  man  away  with  a  message, 
and  he  turned  and  came  into  the  cafe,  scratching  his 
head  and  looking  extremely  serious.  He  said  the 
officer  was  the  son  of  his  landlord,  who  lived  on  an 
estate  at  the  far  end  of  the  town  on  the  Seres  Road. 
There  had  been  a  riot  in  the  Israelite  Quarter,  the 
revolutionists  had  attacked  a  squad  of  soldiers  going 
up  to  the  garrison  to  change  guard,  and  the  military 
in  clearing  the  streets  had  suffered  some  losses.  The 
wounded  man  had  been  dragged  from  his  horse  and 
nearly  killed  before  his  men  could  rescue  him.  It 
was  terrible  for  the  old  people.  He  had  sent  a 
messenger  to  prepare  them.  They  would  send  for  a 
doctor.  Everything  in  Saloniki  was  in  a  bad  way. 
Just  as  the  carriage  was  well  out  of  the  city  they 
heard  a  terrific  explosion  near  the  port,  where  the 
railway  station  was.  Troops  were  already  leaving 
for  Monastir.  And  in  reply  to  the  question  as  to 
what  we  had  better  do,  he  eyed  us  reflectively  and 


270     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

said  perhaps  we'd  better  beat  it  back  as  quick  as  we 
could.  He'd  send  for  our  carriage  at  once,  if  we 
liked.  It  was  obvious  that  while  he  figured  on 
handling  the  situation  with  credit  and  possibly 
profit,  he  had  no  desire  to  be  hampered  by  our 
presence.  And  it  was  certainly  my  own  idea,  too,  to 
get  back.  That  'explosion  near  the  port'  worried 
me  a  good  deal.  If  the  Manola  were  affected  it  would 
be  necessary  for  me  to  be  on  hand. 

" '  This  settles  it,'  I  said  in  a  low  tone  as  we  waited 
for  the  carriage.  *  You  must  come  with  me.  On  the 
Manola  you  will  be  safe.'  In  those  days,  of  course, 
even  the  shabby  old  Red  Ensign  was  an  inviolable 
sanctuary.  She  nodded  without  speaking.  Indeed 
she  did  not  speak  for  some  time  after  we  had  quitted 
the  tortuous  streets  of  the  village  and  were  entering 
upon  the  open  plain,  merely  regarding  me  in  an 
earnest  abstracted  fashion,  so  that  I  was  moved  to 
ask  the  reason.  For  she  had  the  air  of  one  pondering 
upon  a  course  of  action  already  decided,  trying  to  see 
where  it  would  lead. 

"'I  was  thinking,'  she  said,  'that  it  is  funny  you 
should  be  here,  after  all  this  time,  and  free  to  do — 
what  you  are  doing.  Most  men,  you  know.  .  .  .' 
and  she  stopped. 

"'Most  men  what?'  I  demanded. 

*"0h,   there's  generally    someone   they   like   at 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     271 

home,  even  if  they  aren't  married.  You  aren't,  are 
you?' 

"It  wasn't  a  rude  or  a  cruel  question  as  she  put  it 
to  me.  It  was,  on  the  other  hand,  shockingly 
pathetic,  and  humble.  It  registered  the  frightful 
defencelessness  of  her  position  at  last.  It  went  to  my 
heart.  It  moved  me  so  profoundly  that  I  could 
think  of  nothing  adequate  to  reply,  and  she  stared 
into  my  eyes  in  the  gathering  evening  twihght,  her 
own  eyes  extremely  bright  and  feverish,  like  distant 
storm  signals. 

"*Why  torture  yourself  like  this?'  I  asked  at 
length.  *I  happen  to  be  that  very  common  person, 
a  man  without  ties.' 

*'*I'm  not  sure  that  that  would  be  a  recommenda- 
tion to  most  girls,'  she  reflected,  audibly,  'because 
they  think  people  without  ties  aren't  likely  to  con- 
tract any.  But  that  isn't  what  I  meant.  When  I 
was  on  the  Manola,  coming  out  to  Ipsilon,  I  got  it 
fixed  in  my  head  you  were  a  widower.  You  know,' 
she  went  on,  'you  never  did  talk  about  yourself, 
always  about  me;  and  I  wondered  and  wondered  and 
finally  decided  that  you'd  had  a  loss  and  didn't  want 
to  talk  about  it.  And  that  made  me  sorry  for  you. 
And  then  you  remember,  up  on  the  cliff  you  made  me 
promise  to  let  you  help  me,  and  you  seemed  so 
experienced    .    .    .    well,    when    I    was    at    that 


;272     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

school  you  know,  and  we  used  to  talk  in  the  dor- 
mitory about  the  sort  of  men  we  wanted  to  marry, 
I  used  to  say — "a  widower,  because."  And  once  a 
big  lump  of  a  girl  who  was  always  passing  exams 
said:  "you  mean  because  he  has  lived  with  a  woman 
before,"  and  I  said,  "a  man  didn't  have  to  be  married 
for  that."  It  got  to  the  mistresses'  ears  and  I  was 
nearly  expelled.' 

"  She  stopped,  and  I  said  *  Go  on ! ' 

"*0h,  I'll  go  on,*  she  said  with  a  laugh,  looking  up 
at  PoUyni,  who  was  sitting  beside  the  driver  and 
explaining  something  involving  a  great  deal  of 
gesture.  *I  can't  say  I  was  ever  happy  at  school, 
but  at  any  rate  I  must  have  done  pretty  well,  because 
I  was  always  sorry  to  go  away.* 

"*And  where  did  you  go?'  I  enquired. 

"*  Sometimes  my  father  had  a  house  at  the  seaside, 
sometimes  in  the  country.  He  would  have  a  yacht, 
with  a  party  of  people  who  were  all  paying  guests,  of 
course.  Or  he  would  take  a  moor  and  have  people 
down.     And  again  he  would  have  a  place  in  London.' 

**  *  But  do  you  mean  to  say  your  father  fetched  you 
home  to  spend  your  holidays  among  strangers?'  I 
asked.  *I  don't  quite  understand  your  father's  atti- 
tude toward  you.* 

"'I  wish  I  knew  myself,*  she  muttered,  looking  at 
her  foot.     *  You  know,'  she  went  on,  *we  have  always 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     27S 

kept  up  a  sort  of  arrangement  in  which  he  can't  live 
without  me  and  I  am  a  passionately  devoted 
daughter.  I  wouldn't  tell  any  one  else  this,'  she 
interpolated  hurriedly  in  a  whisper,  *but  the  fact 
is,  I  am  not  a  passionately  devoted  daughter.  I 
used  to  think  I  was.  All  the  girls  at  school  used  to 
rave  about  their  parents,  so  I  raved  about  mine. 
Girls  are  fools,'  she  remarked,  abruptly. 

"'In  what  way — raving.'*'  I  asked. 

"'Well,'  she  said,  'they  go  on  and  on,  meaning  no 
harm,  I  suppose.  You  know  we  used  to  tell  each 
other  we  had  the  most  wonderful  sweethearts.  One 
girl  had  a  boy  in  New  Zealand.  Another  was  se- 
cretly engaged  to  a  man  who  was  in  China.  All 
very  far  away!  So  I  wasn't  to  be  done,  and  I  brag- 
ged about  a  lover  in  Siberia.  When  they  wanted 
to  know  about  him  I  made  up  a  long  story.  I  said 
he  was  a  Russian  and  I  had  met  him  in  London  and 
he'd  gone  back  to  Russia  and  got  arrested  and  sent 
to  Siberia.  It  was  as  true  as  their  yarns,  I  dare  say. 
And  it's  a  fact  I  used  to  imagine  myself  in  love  with  a 
tall  fair  man  with  a  yellow  beard.  There  was  a 
Russian  at  father's  house  in  Pimlico  once,  but  he  was 
an  old  cuckoo  from  the  Consulate.     I  didn't  like  him.' 

"*I  don't  think,  my  dear,'  I  said,  'that  I  want  to 
know  any  more  about  it.     I  believe  I  understand.' 

"'Yes,'  she  answered.     *I  believe  you  do.     I  be- 


274     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

4 

Heved  you  would  understand  sooner  or  later,  when  I 
sent  for  you  in  London.  I  was  a  beast,  then,  but  I 
don't  regret  it  after  all.  I  feel  I  could  be  anything 
to  you,  and  you'd  understand.  Oh!'  she  muttered, 
clinging  to  me  for  a  moment  and  staring  across  to 
where  the  sun,  already  set  beyond  the  purple  moun- 
tains, sent  up  broad  bars  of  gold  and  crimson,  re- 
flected in  the  calm  waters  of  the  Gulf .  'Oh!  Howl 
have  treated  you ! '  and  she  sank  into  a  silence  of  pas- 
sionate regret  that  lasted  until  the  darkness  enfolded 
us  and  we  had  entered  the  long  desolate  faubourg.^' 

Mr.  Spenlove  stopped  and  rose  from  his  seat  on 
his  Httle  camp-stool.  Walking  to  and  fro  in  front 
of  the  recumbent  forms  of  his  brother  ojBBcers,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  his  head  on  his  breast,  he  seemed 
once  again  to  have  forgotten  them.  And  they,  per- 
ceiving by  this  time  the  impropriety  of  mundane 
interruptions  at  such  a  moment,  awaited  his  resump- 
tion in  silence. 

"After  all,"  he  remarked,  suddenly  stopping 
and  staring  down  at  the  deck,  "I  lost  her.  I  have 
said  to  you,  at  the  beginning,  that  if  her  story  means 
anything  it  means  that  love  was  nothing,  and  I  had 
this  in  mind,  for  I  lost  her.  And  of  what  avail,  I  ask 
you,  is  an  emotion  so  independent  of  our  individual 
destinies  that  it  can  culminate  at  the  very  moment 
of  disaster?    It  may  be,  of  course,  that  what  we  call 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     275 

love  is  only  the  bright  shadow  on  earth  of  some  ul- 
terior celestial  passion;  but  life  is  too  short  and  too 
unsatisfactory  for  one  to  cultivate  such  an  exalted 
faith.  And  we  crave  a  little  logic  of  Fate  when  we 
suffer.  If,  for  example,  the  crazy  Nikitos,  true  to 
his  word,  had  suddenly  appeared  before  us  in  that 
narrow  street  off  the  Via  Egnatia^  and  destroyed  her 
as  many  were  destroyed  that  day,  one  could  submit 
as  to  a  sinister  but  tangible  manifestation  of  human 
folly.  But  to  have  happened  as  it  did  .  .  . 
there  was  no  sense  in  it.  It  was  as  though  that  girl, 
who  had  been  from  her  birth  a  waif,  the  unhappy 
sport  of  spurious  emotions,  had  angered  Fate  by 
stumbling  upon  something  genuine  after  all,  and 
was  dismissed  into  the  darkness  in  a  moment  of 
irascible  petulance.  And  I  suppose  that  I,  if  a  man 
had  any  inherited  right  to  expect  that  the  law  of 
compensation  should  be  put  in  operation  in  his  favour, 
should  feel  a  grievance.  But  as  I  have  remarked 
more  than  once,  my  attempts  to  be  anything  more 
than  a  super  in  the  play  have  not  been  a  shining 
success.  So  we  can  leave  that  out.  There  is  no 
need  to  lose  faith  in  Compensation  because  it  is 
somewhat  delayed.     .     .     . 

"But  even  from  the  standpoint  of  a  detached  and 
isolated  event,  there  was  nothing  about  it  that  a 
rational  being  could  lay  hold  of  for  comfort.     It  was 


276     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

just  one  blind  evil  chance  out  of  a  million  possible 
ones.  I  did  not  even  see  it  happen.  1  was  doing 
something  which  has  no  connection  with  my  past  or 
following  existence — watching  an  Ottoman  soldier, 
probably  an  Anatolian,  crumple  up  and  expire  in  the 
gutter  of  the  Via  Egnatia.  I  was  watching  with 
the  close  attention  one  inevitably  bestows  upon  one's 
first  violent  death — as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  had  never 
seen  any  one  die,  even  in  bed — and  remaining  se- 
curely wedged  in  a  doorway  a  few  yards  up  the  street. 
I  remember  him  as  he  paused  for  an  instant  in  a  sort 
of  ecstasy,  his  face  turned  up  toward  the  harsh 
bright  glare  of  a  naked  electric  bulb  that  hung  from 
a  trolley  pole,  his  body  momentarily  poised  as  though 
defying  his  destiny.  And  then  he  twisted  about 
in  an  extraordinarily  complicated  manner  and  fell, 
all  of  a  piece,  while  a  number  of  extremely  active 
persons  tore  past  him  without  any  sound  save  a  popn 
ping  noise  far  down  the  street.  That  would  be  near 
the  market,  I  reflected  in  my  doorway.  And  as  we 
should  have  to  go  that  way  in  order  to  reach  the  ship, 
it  struck  me  that  it  would  be  my  duty  to  find  another 
route.  And  from  that  I  went  on  to  visualize  the 
consternation  of  my  friend  Jack,  when  I  turned  up 
with  the  astonishing  entourage  of  two  women  and  a 
suitcase,  and  informed  him  of  my  determination. 
I  had  a  tremendous  desire  to  know,  beforehand,  just 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     277 

what  he  would  do  and  say.  He  wotdd  stand  by  an 
old  friend  of  course.  But  how.?  And  while  I  re- 
flected in  my  doorway  and  listened  to  the  popping, 
which  went  on  with  varying  intensity,  still  more 
figures  sped  past  the  end  of  my  street.  I  recalled 
the  perplexing  fact  that  as  we  had  driven  into  the 
town  past  the  barrier,  there  had  been  no  one  on  guard. 
I  learned  later  that,  with  unbelievable  stupidity, 
the  authorities  had  sent  the  army  out  toward  Mona- 
stir  and  had  left  the  city  with  a  mere  handful  of 
soldiers  to  deal  with  the  revolutionaries.  It  was  this 
fact,  I  suppose,  of  finding  nobody  on  guard,  which 
had  frightened  our  driver,  and  no  sooner  had  we 
alighted  before  the  doorway  in  that  steep,  narrow 
street  off  the  Via  Egnatia  than  he  had  demanded 
his  fare  and  galloped  away  up  hiU  and  out  of  sight. 
*  You'll  have  to  get  another  carriage,*  PoUyni  had 
told  me  in  an  anxious  voice.  *  You'll  find  one  down 
near  the  big  church.'  The  arrangement  was  that 
they  would  be  ready  by  the  time  I  returned. 

"But  I  had  got  no  further  than  the  comer  when 
the  first  shots  had  been  fired,  and  while  I  hesitated, 
a  couple  of  soldiers  had  hurried  along,  looking  back 
at  every  other  stride,  until  suddenly  one  of  them  had 
been  hit.  And  I  had  watched  him  die.  I  could  still 
see  him,  an  inert  heap  in  the  gutter.  And  while  I 
debated  what  I  was  to  do  to  get  out  of  this  unfore- 


278     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

seen  difficulty,  the  popping  became  a  series  of  sharp, 
definite,  staccato  cracks,  and  a  squad  of  soldiers, 
armed  with  short,  blunt  rifles,  shuffled  sideways  into 
view.  There  was  a  species  of  discipline  in  their 
movements,  for  they  deployed  out  over  the  road 
and  dropped  on  one  knee,  while  one  of  them  stepped 
briskly  to  the  curb  and  spoke  in  a  harsh,  authoritative 
tone  to  some  invisible  laggard.  He  came  into  view 
very  slowly,  dragging  one  leg,  and  halted,  in  the  very 
middle  of  the  street,  his  rifle  pointing  up  hill,  his  face 
turned  toward  their  assailants,  his  hand  to  his  breast 
fumbling  for  cartridges.  Now  and  again  he  lurched 
as  though  wounded,  but  he  never  relaxed  his  defiant 
glare.  His  hand  worked  quickly  over  the  breech 
and  he  seemed  about  to  swing  his  weapon  round 
when  he  must  have  been  hit  again,  for  he  toppled 
over  and  the  thing  went  off  with  a  flash  and  roar.'* 

Mr.  Spenlove  relinquished  his  leisurely  pacing  to 
and  fro  under  the  awning  and  sat  down  sideways 
on  his  camp-stool  to  roll  and  light  a  cigarette.  His 
reflections  while  this  was  accomplished  remained 
undisturbed,  and  his  attitude  conveyed  an  impression 
that  he  was  listening  with  considerable  bitterness 
to  some  imaginary  reproaches  from  which  he  sud- 
denly attempted  to  defend  himself. 

"Not  so  easy,"  he  muttered,  flicking  the  match 
into  the  scupper.     "Not  so  easy!    Suppose  I  had 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     279 

suddenly  broken  out  of  that  doorway  and  made  off 
up  the  street?  There  is  no  reasonable  grounds  for 
doubt  that  the  oflSicer  who  was  directing  that  little 
squad  of  disciplined  men  was  the  person  who  after- 
ward gained  the  White  Tower  and  held  the  city 
barrier  and  the  sea-front  until  fresh  troops  arrived 
to  overpower  the  apostles  of  liberty.  Suppose,  I  say, 
I  had  suddenly  scared  him  by  bolting  up  that  narrow 
street?  No,  not  so  easy.  And  yet  it  wasn't  easy, 
either,  to  remain  even  as  long  as  I  did.  For  at  a  word 
from  him  the  kneeling  men  raised  their  rifles  and 
fired  once,  twice — a  crescendo  of  crashes  reverberat- 
ing from  the  buildings  opposite.  And  then  they  all 
ran  diagonally  across  the  street  into  the  shadows, 
and  for  a  space  there  was  silence. 

"And  even  then,"  went  on  Mr.  Spenlove,  "I  did 
not  run.  Not  from  courage,  you  understand,  but 
fear.  I  tiptoed  out  of  my  doorway  and  walked 
quickly  up  the  street  without  making  any  noise.  I 
was  preoccupied  with  the  question  of  getting  back 
to  the  ship.  We  should  have  to  walk.  I  tried  to 
lay  out  the  city  in  my  mind.  If  we  walked  upward 
say,  and  struck  a  street  going  westward  and  parallel 
with  the  Via  Egnatia,  we  might  eventually  strike 
another  thoroughfare  running  down  to  the  port.  I 
was  thinking  this  out  as  I  hurried.  I  considered 
the  wisdom  of  remaining  indoors  until  the  morning, 


280     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

and  I  believe  now  that  is  what  I  would  have  done 
eventually,  anyhow.  I  looked  back  several  times. 
The  electric  globe,  hanging  high,  had  gone  out  or  been 
put  out,  and  there  were  no  lights  in  any  of  the  houses. 
I  imagined  the  inmates  sitting  silently  behind  their 
shutters,  listening  and  waiting  for  a  renewal  of  the 
uproar.  You  must  understand  that  I  was  experienc- 
ing nothing  more  than  a  very  natural  exaltation 
of  nerves,  with  an  undertow  of  anxiety  for  the  ship. 
I  pictured  Jack  in  a  great  state,  wondering  where  I 
was,  a  state  probably  complicated  by  the  scandalized 
Tonderbeg's  abashed  revelations.  As  Jack  grew 
older,  he  grew  fond  of  saying  there  was  no  fool  like  an 
old  fool,  forgetting  that  there  is  another  kind,  the 
middle-aged  fool,  who  has  the  distinction  of  compre- 
hending and  enjoying  his  folly.  Of  course,  Tonderbeg 
would  get  himself  snubbed,  and  Jack  would  retire  to 
his  cabin  to  muse  upon  the  serious  news.  So  I 
reflected  as  I  hurried  up  that  dark  street  toward  a 
faint  ray  of  light  which  indicated  the  door  of  her 
house.  I  had  no  forebodings  up  to  this  moment; 
only  speculations.  And  even  when  that  light  was 
darkened  for  an  instant  as  someone  stood  in  the 
doorway,  and  I  heard  Polljiii's  voice  calling  hoarsely 
to  know  who  I  was,  I  had  no  premonition.  The  next 
moment  her  high-heeled  shoes  clicked  on  the  side- 
walk as  she  ran  toward  me,  and  when  she  came  up  to 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     £81 

rae  she  grasped  me  and  stared  at  me  in  a  profoundly 
mysterious  fashion.  I  will  not  say  to  you  what  I  now 
believe  lay  at  the  back  of  that  girl's  mind.  You 
would  say  I  had  lost  my  faith  in  humanity,  but  you 
would  be  mistaken.  You  would  be  forgetting  her 
descent  from  the  Pandour  hordes  who  came  gallop- 
ing up  out  of  the  Caucasus  so  many  centuries  ago. 
You  would  be  forgetting  that  to  those  people  neither 
'life,  liberty,  nor  the  pursuit  of  happiness'  are  par- 
ticularly sacred  things,  or  things  to  be  achieved  in  a 
spirit  of  altruistic  piety.  But  I  can  tell  you  it  was 
because  of  that  enigmatic  stare  of  hers  that  I  have 
emphasized  her  part  in  this  story  of  Captain  Mace- 
doine's  daughter.  You  might  say  she  had  the  tem- 
perament for  the  leading  r6le  in  the  play.  ,  .  . 
She  said  in  her  hoarse  musical  contralto,  *  We  were 
ready  and  we  were  coming  down  to  meet  you.' 

"*Well.'''  I  said.  She  stood  in  front  of  me,  holding 
my  arms  and  impeding  my  advance. 

***Well!'  she  repeated,  slowly.  'You  do  not  know 
what  has  happened,'  and  again  she  regarded  me  in 
the  way  I  have  described. 

"*No,'  I  said,  returning  her  scrutiny,  'I  don't 
understand  what  you  mean  by  what  has  happened. 
I  have  seen  a  shocking  thing  down  there.  They  are 
fighting  in  the  Via  Egnatia.  Some  are  dead.  We 
can't  go  that  way,  I'm  afraid.' 


282     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

"Suddenly  she  dropped  her  hands  from  my  arms 
and  breathed  deeply.  *  Come!  *  she  said,  and  hurried 
away  from  me.  I  had  spoken  the  truth.  I  did  not 
understand  her,  but  her  demeanour  alarmed  me.  I 
followed,  watching  the  silhouette  of  her  body  sway 
as  she  took  her  long  strides.  I  had  a  fugitive  notion 
that  this  performance  was  symbolical  of  our  emo- 
tional existence — our  souls  pursue  one  another 
through  a  steep  darkness,  the  victims  of  unpre- 
meditated suspicions  and  fears.  As  she  reached  the 
lighted  doorway  she  swung  round  and  spread  out 
her  hands  with  a  gesture  of  pity  and  grief.  *Look!' 
she  said.  *  As  we  came  out  someone  fired.  She  was 
in  front.     It  was  not  my  fault.     .     .     .     You  see.* 

"While  she  spoke  I  endeavoured  to  collect  my 
forces.  I  looked  down.  I  had  a  vivid  impression  of 
emerging  from  a  place  of  imprisonment,  a  place  of 
great  noise  and  activity  and  warm,  pleasant  excite- 
ment, and  of  seeing  before  me  a  cold  gray  plain 
extending  into  the  distance.  And  over  this  plain,  I 
reflected,  I  was  to  travel,  alone.  I  looked  down,  I 
say.  I  heard  the  girl  beside  me  murmur  hoarsely 
into  my  ear,  and  stoop  to  lift  the  form  that  lay 
motionless  at  our  feet. 

"'No!'  I  said,  drawing  her  back.  'This  is  for  me 
to  do.     I  will  carry  my  own  dead.'" 


CHAPTER  IX 

AND  the  rest,"  said  Mr.  Spenlove  in  a 
/%  colourless  voice,  "is  hy  way  of  being  an 
JL  ^  epilogue  of  detached  and  vagrant  memo- 
ries. They  come  to  me  now  and  again,  a 
sad  sequence  of  blurred  pictures  in  which  I  can  see 
my  own  figure  in  unfamihar  poses.  There  is  the 
night  which  I  passed  in  that  house,  a  night  of  endless 
recapitulations  and  regrets.  There  was  the  moment 
when  I  turned  from  the  bed,  where  the  dead  girl  lay, 
and  found  the  other  girl,  with  her  extraordinary 
vitality,  close  beside  me,  scrutinizing  me  as  though 
I  were  a  problem  she  found  it  impossible  to  solve* 
And  when  I  walked  through  into  the  other  room  and 
sat  down  beyond  a  table  on  which  a  tiny  oil  lamp 
burned,  she  advanced  into  the  circle  df  light,  so  that 
her  shadow  was  gigantic  on  the  wall  and  ceiling 
behind  her,  and  looked  across  at  me.  There  was  a 
subtle  change  in  her  since  we  had  met  in  the  street 
outside.  She  seemed  full  of  an  insatiable  ciu*iosity 
to  know  my  thoughts.  And  my  thoughts  just  then 
were  not  for  any  one  to  know.    My  thoughts  re- 

283 


284     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

sembled  a  flock  of  wild  birds  which  had  been  stream- 
ing steadily  in  one  direction  when  a  bomb  had 
exploded  among  them  and  sent  them  swirling  and 
careening  in  crazy  circles.  And  she  did  this  more 
than  once.  While  I  sat  there  in  the  semi-darkness 
beyond  the  circle  of  light  she  came  in  with  some 
bread  and  a  bottle  of  wine,  and  set  a  plate  and  glass 
beside  them  on  the  table,  and  then,  after  watching 
me  for  a  moment,  went  away  again.  There  was  a 
faint  murmur  from  below  where  a  number  of  women 
from  neighbouring  houses  were  conversing  in  low 
tones  with  the  old  Greek  woman  who  seemed  to  be 
the  conciergey  and  thither  no  doubt  the  girl  retired. 
And  once  while  I  drowsed  for  a  spell  I  was  aware  of 
her  as  she  stepped  softly  up  to  me,  p>eered  into  my 
face,  and  then,  as  I  opened  my  eyes,  withdrew  with- 
out speaking.  Yes,  I  drowsed  time  and  again;  but 
toward  dawn  I  grew  wakeful  and  the  necessity  of 
returning  to  the  ship  became  urgent  once  more. 
You  will  understand,  of  course,  that  it  was  not  a  fear 
of  being  killed  that  held  me  in  that  room.  I  was  in  a 
mood  up  there  which  rendered  me  perfectly  in- 
different to  material  risks  of  that  nature.  It  was 
rather  an  illogical  and  irresistible  instinct  to  play  up 
to  the  event.  I  was  intensely  aware  that  the 
episode,  by  reason  of  its  frustrating  climax,  was  al- 
ready standing  away  from  me,  and  I  was  unable  to 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     285 

relinquish  my  position.  I  felt  that  when  I  was  gone 
away  from  that  room  I  would  be  at  the  mercy  of  a 
frightful  and  solitary  future.  It  may  sound  strange 
to  you,  spoken  in  cold  blood,  but  that  dead  girl  was 
nearer  to  me  during  my  vigil  than  any  living  woman 
had  ever  been!  I  went  over  everything  that  had 
happened  while  I  sat  and  watched  the  light  of  the 
three  candles  flicker  over  those  exquisite  features. 
And  I  discovered  in  the  confused  tangle  of  emotions 
one  bright  scarlet  thread  of  gladness  that  no  more 
harm  could  come  to  her.  For  mind  you,  I  was  wise 
enough  to  know  the  perilous  problems  in  store  for 
her,  even  if  she  had  come  home  with  us.  I  was  under 
no  illusions  about  either  of  us.  It  was  the  tre- 
mendous risks  which  had  allured  me.  I  have  said  I 
believed  she  would  have  won  out,  and  I  do.  But 
how?  Women  win  out  in  all  sorts  of  extraordinary 
ways.  I  am  not  so  sure  some  of  them  would  not  be 
better  in  their  graves.     .     .     . 

"But  I  went  down  at  last.  And  the  girl  Pollyni 
met  me  in  the  corridor  below.  She  said:  *Are  you 
going  on  board  the  ship?'  'Yes,'  I  answered,  *I  am 
going  on  board  the  ship.  What  else  can  I  do?'  She 
shrugged  her  shoulders  and  looked  at  the  floor.  I 
started  to  go  out.  I  experienced  a  sudden  irritable 
anger. 

"*Why  do  you  ask?'  I  demanded. 


286     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

"'Well,'  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  *you  know  her 
father  is  sick.' 

*'*0h,'  I  answered,  *I  will  come  ashore  again,  of 
course.  But  just  now,  you  understand,  I  must  go 
back.  I  may  be  wanted.'  And  I  went  out  quickly 
into  the  chill  air  of  the  dawn. 

"And  the  intense  silence  of  that  cold,  closed,  steep 
street  daunted  me.  I  felt,  as  I  surveyed  those 
silent  and  repellent  fagades,  with  their  enigmatic 
shutters,  a  sensation  of  extraordinary  loneliness  and 
dreary  failure.  I  envisaged  the  Manola  lying  snug 
and  respectable  at  her  berth  in  the  little  harbour,  all 
the  dingy  details  of  her  stark  utility  apparent  in  the 
transparent  morning  air.  I  saw  myself  ascending  the 
gangway,  and  the  startled  air  of  amused  surprise  on 
the  face  of  the  night  watchman  projected  abruptly 
from  the  gallery.  I  saw  Jack,  asleep  in  his  room,  his 
mouth  open,  his  limbs  flung  wide,  his  hairy  chest 
showing  through  the  open  pajamas,  a  rumbling  snore 
filling  the  neat  room.  And  I  came  to  the  singular 
and  illogical  conviction  that  if  I  went  aboard  im- 
mediately I  would  regret  it.  I  should  carry  away 
with  me  into  the  future  a  memory  of  shabby  and 
furtive  behaviour.  And  I  did  not  want  that,  I  can 
assure  you.  I  wanted  this  thing  to  remain  some- 
what as  I  had  experienced  it.  I  felt  that  I  must 
make  the  most  of  it.     We  grow  very  humble  in  our 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     287 

emotional  demands  as  we  grow  older,  I  observe.  We 
who  go  to  sea  especially.  One  of  the  inevitable 
products  of  our  rolling  existence.  And  I  stood, 
irresolute,  in  front  of  the  open  doorway  leading  to  the 
flat  above,  and  Pollyni  Sarafov  stood  there  watching 
me.     She  came  down. 

*'*Let  me  tell  you  something,'  she  began.  'I 
think  you  ought  to  go  and  see  her  father.  Didn't 
you  say  you  used  to  know  him  in  America.'^  Just 
think !    She  was  all  he  had . ' 

"'What  am  I  to  say  to  him  if  I  go?'  I  demanded. 
*You  know  very  well  that  he  thinks  she  is  .  .  . 
eh  ?    How  shall  I  explain  when  I  come  in  ? ' 

"'Never  mind  that,'  she  said,  shaking  her  head. 
*You  come.' 

"And  she  became  extraordinarily  light-hearted 
when  I  said  I  would.  She  ran  in  and  got  her  hat  and 
parasol.  She  came  out  prinking  and  clicking  her 
high-heeled  shoes,  and  she  placed  her  hand  as 
lightly  as  a  feather  upon  my  arm.  Perhaps  she 
really  needed  my  support  down  that  steep,  narrow 
street,  but  I  read  into  that  delicate  gesture  a  profound 
moral  significance.  And  I  can  tell  you  another 
thing,"  added  Mr.  Spenlove  with  some  vehemence. 
"I  found  myself  regarding  the  whole  sum  of  human 
grief  with  moody  suspicion.  I  recalled  a  fine  phrase 
I  had  once  read  of  *the  great  stream  of  human  tears 


288     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

falling  always  through  the  shadows  of  the  world,' 
and  I  dismissed  it  as  fudge.  I  was  half  tempted  to 
wonder  whether  the  world,  which  had  grown  out  of 
stage  coaches  and  sailing  ships  and  Italian  opera,  had 
not  grown  out  of  grief  at  the  same  time.  And  by 
heavens,  what  has  happened  during  the  past  two  or 
three  years  has  only  solidified  that  grisly  conviction. 
We  seem  to  have  been  bom  just  in  time  to  see  the 
end  of  the  spiritual  world,  the  final  disintegration  of 
the  grand  passions  of  the  human  soul.  Oh,  we  keep 
up  a  certain  pretence  from  force  of  habit,  but  we  are 
being  forced  to  realize  that  the  philosophers  were  on 
the  right  track  when  they  foretold  the  subjugation  of 
man  by  the  instruments  of  civilization.  Or  you  can 
say  that  the  tempo  of  our  modem  life  is  too  fast  to 
permit  our  accepted  notions  of  the  elemental  comedy 
and  tragedy  of  existence  to  register  with  any  per- 
manence. The  newspaper  scribbler  talks  incessantly 
of  Armageddon,  heroism,  patriotism,  sacrifice,  and  so 
on,  and  we  wait  in  vain  for  our  hearts  to  respond  to 
their  invocations.  We  discover  with  surprise  that 
we  are  as  incapable  of  profound  sorrow  as  of  a  high 
resolve.  We  are  swept  on  out  of  sight.  We  forget, 
or  we  die  and  are  forgotten.  We  are  beginning  to 
wonder  now  and  again  whether  all  our  boasted 
science  and  mechanical  discoveries  are  not  evil  after 
all,  whether  the  old  monks  were  such  bigoted  fools 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     289 

as  we  have  been  taught  to  believe  when  they  de- 
nounced knowledge  as  a  danger  to  the  soul.  But 
we  have  very  little  time  in  which  to  reflect.  We  rush 
on  to  fresh  improvements,  and  we  find  ourselves  less 
admirable  than  before. 

"And  so,  as  we  went  down  that  cold,  remorseless 
street  of  shuttered  houses,  away  from  the  chamber  of 
death,  we  were  silent,  but  we  thought  not  at  all  of 
death.  Perhaps  we  did  at  the  turning  into  the 
Via  Egnatia,  for  the  dead  soldier  was  still  lying  where 
he  had  fallen  in  the  shallow  channel  that  ran  just 
there  by  an  orchard  wall.  He  was  lying  on  his  face, 
with  his  hands  close  to  his  head,  and  his  pose  gave  one 
a  peculiar  impression  that  he  was  looking  with 
intense  curiosity  into  some  subterranean  chamber. 
His  attitude  was  not  at  all  suggestive  of  death.  It 
was  quite  easy,  looking  across  at  him,  to  imagine  him 
suddenly  leaping  to  his  feet,  beckoning  us  to  come 
and  have  a  peep  through  his  newly  found  hole.  The 
soldiers  we  encountered  hurriedly  descending  the 
street  from  the  Citadel  and  running  across  to  vanish 
into  the  White  Tower  were  much  more  like  dead 
men,  strange  to  say.  Their  faces  were  pallid  with 
lack  of  sleep,  and  they  bore  the  hard-lipped  stare  of 
disciphned  men  who  have  suddenly  lost  faith  in  their 
commanders.  They  paid  no  more  attention  to  us 
than  to  the  stones  of  the  roadway.     They  ran  past 


290     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

us  laden  with  bread  and  vegetables,  hastily  corralled 
from  friendly  houses  built  about  the  Citadel,  for 
these  were  mostly  families  with  military  traditions. 
One  carried  on  his  curved  back  a  newly  slaughtered 
sheep,  the  bright  red  blood  dribbling  from  the  gashed 
gullets,  and  the  animal's  eyes  looking  back  at  us 
with  an  expression  of  intelligent  comprehension,  as 
though  it  were  fully  aware  of  the  whole  business.  In 
the  clear  light  of  early  morning  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  the  automaton  about  all  of  us.  And  as  we 
crossed  the  road  where  it  debouched  upon  the 
quays  and  started  to  walk  out  of  the  city  by  the 
deserted  barrier,  a  short  and  determined-looking 
person  in  a  tight-fitting  blue  tunic  looked  out  of  the 
door  of  the  Tower  and  eyed  us  critically.  And  I 
really  believe  the  only  reason  why  he  neglected  to 
tell  one  of  his  men  to  put  an  experimental  bullet  into 
us  was  the  fact  that  the  girl  still  had  her  hand  on  my 
arm.  And  she  carried  her  parasol.  We  walked  on 
and  presently  we  were  out  of  sight  of  the  sea  and  the 
Tower.  Across  the  blue  sky  large  companies  of 
billowing  white  clouds  were  gathering  from  the 
mouth  of  the  Gulf.  Suddenly  Miss  Sarafov  mur- 
mured without  taking  her  eyes  from  the  ground. 

"'Was  that  man  dead.^* 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Spenlove,  "you  may  call  me 
fanciful  and  overwrought,  but  I  read  into  that  simple 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     291 

question  a  secret  desire  to  accustom  my  mind  to  the 
idea  of  death  as  a  frequent  and  common  sort  of  affair. 
I  looked  at  her  suspiciously  and  she  raised  her  eyes 
to  mine  full  of  a  clear  feminine  candour.  She  may 
have  known  that  my  morose  taciturnity  came  from 
a  consciousness  that  she  had  divined  the  fundamental 
flaw  in  my  emotional  equipment  and  was  using  it 
for  her  own  purposes,  but  she  did  not  show  it.  And 
while  I  was  debating  the  question  with  myself,  I 
heard  her  add,  in  a  shy,  delicate  tone,  'There  is  a 
little  garden  just  here,  on  the  water.' 

"And  from  that  moment  I  let  her  have  her  way 
and  followed  her  lead.  We  crossed  the  street.  I 
heard  her  say  it  was  too  early  to  go  to  the  Rue 
Paleologue,  which  might  be  true,  but  struck  me  as 
irrelevant.  And  then  my  attention  was  drawn  to  a 
high  square  house  standing  in  a  dusty  yard  and 
decorated  with  a  long  board  bearing  the  words  Ecole 
Universelle. 

" '  I  was  at  school  there  before  we  went  to  Amer- 
ica,' Miss  Sarafov  remarked,  poking  at  the  place 
with  her  parasol.  'It  was  a  good  school  then,  very 
solid  instruction,'  she  added,  'but  now  it  isn't  any 
good.' 

"'Is  the  instruction  no  longer  sufficiently  solid?' 
I  asked. 

*' '  The  mistresses  are  all  progressives,'  she  returned. 


292     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

*Here  is  the  little  garden,'  and  we  came  out  upon  a 
small  place  of  grass  and  shrubs,  flanked  by  a  pair 
of  kiosques  joined  by  a  wooden  balustrade.  It  was 
deserted,  as  one  might  expect  at  that  hour;  but  Miss 
Sarafov  remarked  that  we  might  have  coffee  and 
rusks  if  I  liked,  and  walked  across  the  sward  to  a  door 
in  a  neighbouring  house.  I  went  into  one  of  the 
Mosques  and  sat  facing  the  calm  waters  of  the  Gulf. 
Facing  something  else,  too,  which  was  anything  but 
calm.  For  I  was  unable  to  rid  myself  of  a  fear  that 
when  this  episode  was  completed  I  should  be  in  a 
very  difficult  position.  I  should  be  like  a  man  who 
had  been  struggling  in  the  waves,  only  to  find  him- 
self suddenly  flung  up  high  and  dry  upon  a  desolate 
and  inhospitable  shore,  where  he  would  in  all  prob- 
ability perish  of  privation.  And  then,  if  you  like  to 
carry  the  parable  a  little  further,  this  man  becomes 
aware  of  a  siren  calling  him  back  into  the  watery 
tumult  ....  And  you  know,  I  doubted  my 
ability  to  manage  the  situation  if  I  were  to  go  back. 
One  needs  a  special  education,  or  let  us  say,  tempera- 
ment, to  deal  successfully  with  sirens.  And  as  Miss 
Sarafov  came  into  the  kiosque  and  sat  down  beside 
me,  I  felt  the  immediate  necessity  of  making  my 
jK>sition  clear.  I  began  at  once  to  tell  her  that  the 
events  of  the  previous  day  had  changed  everything. 
I  should  in  all  probability  never  come  to  Saloniki 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     293 

again.  And  while  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  see  Captain 
Macedoine  and  also  to  return  Miss  Sarafov  herself  to 
her  mother,  I  should  then  go  back  to  the  ship  for 
good. 

"'And  I  shall  never  see  you  again,'  she  exclaimed, 
looking  out  across  the  Gulf,  in  a  kind  of  magical 
abstraction. 

*"A  small  privation,'  I  murmured.  She  rose 
suddenly  and  stood  by  the  door  of  the  kiosque,  her 
sturdy  and  extraordinarily  vital  figure  silhouetted 
against  the  shining  water. 

"*Not  so  small,'  she  muttered  in  her  hoarse  con- 
tralto, 'not  so  small,  after  what  has  happened.' 

"'What  do  you  want,  Miss  Sarafov.'*'  I  asked, 
sharply.  'You  seem  to  accuse  me  of  a  failure  in 
friendship.' 

"'What  do  I  want?'  she  echoed,  without  turning 
round.  'Why  do  you  suppose  I  wanted  Artemisia 
to  send  for  you  and  go  to  England?  Because  she 
was  going  to  take  me,  too.' 

"'Take  you,  too?'  I  said,  feebly. 

"'Sure!'  she  shrilled,  turning  round,  'to  live  with 
her.  She  hadn't  a  friend  in  the  world  to  turn  to 
and  she'd  have  gone  crazy  living  alone  in  England 
while  you  were  at  sea.  We  had  it  fixed  up.  And 
now  it  is  all  over,  and  I  have  to  stay  here  and  live 
through — what?     I  don't  know.' 


294     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

"'But  I  understood  Captain  Macedoine  to  hint 
that  you  were  his  favourite,'  I  observed. 

***  That's  his  way  of  talking.  Mother  thinks  he's 
wonderful.  Of  course,  if  his  investments  went  up, 
as  they  might  if  there  was  a  revolution,  he  would 
be  pretty  rich.  But  just  now  his  business  doesn't 
bring  in  much.  And  it  was  Elinaitsky  who  started 
him  in  it.     He  owes  Kinaitsky  a  lot  of  money.* 

**  *  And  you  think  you  would  like  to  go  to  England  .^^ ' 
I  said.  She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  made  a 
movement  of  her  hand  as  though  casting  something 
away.  *No  use  talking  about  it,'  she  returned,  gruffly. 
I  was  silent,  and  after  she  had  watched  me  for  a  mo- 
ment she  came  over  quickly  and  sat  down  beside  me 
again. 

"'Pardon,'  she  whispered,  'but  I  had  so  little  time. 
I  knew  you  would  go  away  and  I  had  to  speak.  I 
thought  you  might  not  be  angry.' 

" 'I  am  not, '  I  said,  'only  sorry.  You  had  made  a 
very  special  place  for  yourself  in  my  memory,'  I  went 
on.  'I  wish  you  had  not  disillusioned  me.  You 
were  entirely  charming.  Why  should  you  go  and 
spoil  it  all.'*  I  would  have  thought  of  you  always  as 
my  friend's  friend.     .     .     .' 

"She  sat  in  a  tense,  eager  pose  looking  up  into  my 
face,  a  pose  that  suddenly  relaxed  and  she  sighed.  I 
did  not  see  it  then,  in  my  exalted  mood  of  ideahzed 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     295 

emotion;  but  I  don't  suppose  a  woman  values  any 
reputation  less  than  one  for  altruistic  charm.  Prob- 
ably because  she  is  aware  of  its  inevitably  spurious 
nature.  Miss  Sarafov  sighed,  and  the  intense  vitality 
of  her  features  was  obscured  for  an  instant  as  by  a 
shadow.  An  idea  seemed  to  strike  her  and  she  looked 
intently  at  me  again. 

"  'Women  don't  matter  much  to  you,'  she  observed, 
quietly,  and  fell  silent  again. 

"And  here  again,"  said  Mr.  Spenlove,  "was  a 
picture  which  comes  back  to  me  now — the  scene 
in  that  little  kiosque,  a  circular  chamber  crowded  with 
the  brilliant  and  disturbing  reflections  of  the  sunlight 
on  the  surface  of  the  sea,  shadow  and  gleam  moving 
in  complex  rhythm  across  our  faces  and  figures  as  we 
sat  there,  two  beings  destined  to  be  forever  strangers. 
She  came  into  view  for  a  little  space,  and  vanished 
again,  a  mysterious,  alluring,  and  magical  presence, 
yet  conveying  no  hint  of  any  misfortune.  She  gave 
the  impression  of  an  easy  and  felicitous  balance  of 
forces,  a  complex  of  resilient  strength,  to  which  we 
poor  Anglo-Saxons  rarely  attain.  And  sitting  in  the 
dancing  reflections  of  the  sunlights,  she  seemed  a 
veritable  emanation  of  the  spirit  of  enchanted  desire. 
I  see  her  now,  confronting  the  obscure  motives  of  my 
behaviour  in  good-humoured  sadness,  while  an  an- 
cient  person  in  baggy  black  trousers  and   dingy 


296     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

scarlet  sash  tottered  forward  with  a  copper  tray  bear- 
ing tiny  cups  and  a  brass  pot  with  a  long  handle. 

"And  in  direct  sequence,  not  very  clear  but  clear 
compared  with  the  shadowy  oblivion  that  intervened, 
comes  a  picture  of  him  whom  I  have  called  more 
than  once  a  master  of  illusion.  And  I  suppose  he 
has  a  right  to  the  title  for  he  maintained  the  pose  to 
the  end  of  the  chapter.  I  had  imagined  that  it 
would  be  a  painful  duty  to  break  the  news  of  his 
daughter's  death  to  him.  I  saw  myself  offering 
my  condolences  and  soothing  a  father's  anguish.  I 
pictured  an  old  man  bowed  with  grief.  But  it  did 
not  happen  that  way  at  all.  I  forgot  that  masters 
of  illusion  have  no  use  for  facts,  not  even  for  such 
facts  as  grief  or  death,  until  they  have  been  trans- 
muted into  some  strange  emotional  freaks  which  will 
inspire  the  spectator  with  awe.  And  Fate,  who  is 
something  of  an  illusionist  herself,  plays  into  the 
hands  of  such  as  he. 

"I  remember,  for  instance,  sitting  heavily  in  Mrs. 
Sarafov's  front  room,  and  telling  that  handsome, 
self-possessed  woman  in  a  few  brief  words  what  had 
happened  to  Captain  Macedoine's  daughter.  How 
a  wounded  soldier's  rifle,  discharged  by  accident 
in  our  direction,  had  left  us  paralyzed  and  aghast 
at  the  inconceivable  eflBcacy  and  finality  of  its  achieve- 
ment.   I  remember  that,  and  then  I  remember  follow- 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     297 

ing  her  into  Captain  Macedoine's  house.  About 
nine  o'clock,  I  should  say.  And  Mrs.  Sarafov  must 
have  sent  a  messenger  in  advance,  for  Captain 
Macedoine  already  knew  what  I  had  to  say.  We 
stood  in  the  vestibule  near  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  Mrs. 
Sarafov  whispering  that  he  was  being  treated  by  his 
doctor  with  special  baths.  The  doctor  came  every 
morning,  I  was  informed  in  a  respectful  tone.  And 
while  we  stood  there,  we  heard  a  commotion  upstairs, 
and  a  strange  procession  began  to  descend  the  narrow 
and  shallow  steps.  I  remember  turning  away  hur- 
riedly from  a  picture  on  the  wall,  a  stark,  angular 
composition  of  muscular  male  nudes  in  attitudes 
registering  classical  grief,  of  the  body  of  Hector  being 
brought  back  to  the  city — and  finding  Captain 
Macedoine,  supported  by  a  lean  man  in  a  frock  coat 
and  by  two  women,  coming  down.  And  perhaps 
it  was  the  contemplation  of  that  picture  which  called 
to  my  mind  with  irresistible  force  another  picture, 
seen  many  years  before.  It  was  a  picture  of  vivid 
colouring  and  violently  complex  action — the  Em- 
peror Vitellius  coming  down  a  steep,  narrow  street 
with  the  mob  and  the  soldiery  hacking  and  yelling 
and  spitting  around  him,  his  gross  corpulence  rolling 
and  rearing  and  staggering,  the  rich  robes  ripping 
away  from  the  creases  of  sleezy  tissue,  the  bright 
blood  spurting  from  neck  and  arms,  the  eyes  rolling 


298     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

wide,  in  a  naked  horror  of  dissolution,  toward  the 
flawless  blue  of  a  Roman  sky.  And  the  recollection 
was  not  so  irrelevant  as  you  might  imagine.  Captain 
Macedoine  wore  a  voluminous  bath  robe  of  dark 
purple  and  he  wore  sandals  on  his  feet.  As  he 
descended  he  rolled  and  staggered,  and  his  support- 
ers rolled  and  staggered  to  maintain  themselves  and 
him,  all  this  commotion  giving  the  little  group  the 
complicated  activity  of  a  crowd  of  people  wrestling 
with  an  old  man  in  a  purple  robe.  And  Mrs.  Sarafov 
advanced  to  assist  him,  running  up  several  steps 
and  raising  an  arm,  as  though  to  strike,  but  with  the 
real  intention  of  support.  I  remember,  too,  the  small 
wayward  feet  and  the  thick,  smooth,  hairless  calves 
beneath  the  robe,  strange  in  one  so  decrepit.  I  dare- 
say, you  know,  he  would  have  been  something  of  that 
sort  in  that  part  of  the  world  twenty  generations 
earlier.  Perhaps  there  was  something  aback  of  his 
adumbrations  concerning  his  ancient  lineage.  Per- 
haps he  was  not  simply  a  ship  chandler  in  a  small 
way,  but  the  reincarnation  of  some  sinister  pro-consul 
who  sat  on  the  terrace  of  his  marble  villa  among  the 
distant  ranges,  and  watched  with  a  contemptuous 
and  intellectual  sneer  the  hordes  of  peasantry  as 
they  trudged  into  the  cities  to  sacrifice  their  daughters 
to  the  savage  and  inexorable  Cabirian  deities.  I 
had  that  fantastic  notion  as  they  paused  at  the  foot 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOmE'S  DAUGHTER     299 

of  the  stair  and  he  moved  his  head  slowly  from  side 
to  side,  the  mouth  pursed,  the  eyes  set  in  a  stony, 
unseeing  stare,  the  bathrobe  of  purple  towelling 
slipping  from  one  shoulder.  And  then  they  moved 
forward  again,  away  from  me,  into  a  room  sparsely 
set  with  French  furniture  and  dominated  by  a  lofty 
chandelier  still  shrouded  in  its  summer  muslin,  and 
the  door  swung  to,  leaving  me  to  contemplate  the 
picture  in  its  tarnished  frame  of  the  body  of  Hector 
being  brought  back  to  Troy. 

"And  I  must  have  sat  there,  in  a  sort  of  cane 
lounge,  for  a  long  time,  since  when  we  emerged  from 
the  doorway,  the  doctor  and  I,  the  Rue  Paleologue 
was  a  shadowless  glare  of  thin  sunshine.  He  had 
come  out  of  that  room  with  bent  head,  closing  the 
door  absently  and  advancing  toward  the  lounge 
where  reposed  his  hat  and  stick  beside  me,  when  he 
took  occasion  to  glance  at  me.  Immediately  he 
became  alert  and  active. 

*"You  have  sustained  a  shock,'  he  murmured, 
counting  my  pulse. 

"*Is  that  it.'''  I  returned,  and  he  smiled,  taking  a 
capsule  of  white  powder  from  his  wallet  and  handing 
it  to  me.  A  carafe  stood  on  a  table  near  by.  He 
poured  out  a  glass  of  water. 

"'Looks  like  it,'  he  remarked  in  excellent  collo- 
quial idiom;  'put  this  on  your  tongue  and  wash  it 


300     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

down  with  some  water.  Feel  better?  Come  out 
into  the  fresh  air.     Take  a  drive  with  me  if  you  like,' 

"'I  want  to  talk  to  you,'  I  explained,  as  I  followed 
him  out.  He  hailed  a  man  standing  by  a  carriage 
several  doors  away  and  conversing  with  a  servant. 

"'Very  nice  of  you,  I'm  sure.  Step  in.  Just  the 
day  for  a  constitutional.'  And  then,  as  we  started 
off  and  the  carriage  rolled  round  the  comer  out  of 
sight,  his  mood  changed.  'Friend  of  the  family.?' 
he  asked,  keenly. 

"*You  can  call  me  that.  Of  Miss  Macedoine 
certainly.' 

"'Now  there  was  a  woman!'  he  ejacidated,  open- 
ing an  immense  cigarette  case,  like  a  bandolier,  and 
offering  it  to  me.  '  I  admire  her  very  much,  indeed. 
I  was  called  in  about  a  year  ago.  But  you  say  you 
are  a  friend  of  hers.  And  she's  dead.  I  suppose 
I  shall  have  to  go  and  attend  to  it.  Only  you  know 
what's  going  on.  This  confounded  Committee  of 
Liberty  and  Progress  have  carried  out  a  coup  d*  iidt 
and  there'll  be  very  little  liberty  of  movement  until 
they're  squashed.  Between  ourselves,  that  is. 
Thank  the  Lord  my  practice  is  out  here  among  the 
Europeans.  And  it's  bad  enough  here,  I  can  tell 
you.* 

"*You  have  lived  in  England?'     I  interposed. 

"His  lean,  dark  face  wrinkled  with  humour. 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     SOI 

"*Well,  considering  I  was  casualty  surgeon  at  St. 
Barnabas  Hospital  for  nearly  three  years,  I  rather 
think  I  have.  Yes,  I  took  my  degrees  at  Guys,  and 
I  don't  mind  admitting  I  wish  I  was  in  London  now. 
But  I  have  an  old  mother  and  seven  sisters  who  have 
never  been  farther  than  Volo  in  their  lives,  and  so 
I  resign  myself.' 

***Greek.'^'  I  enquired.     He  flushed  dark  red. 

**  *  Scarcely,'  he  said  in  a  suppressed  sort  of  voice.  *I 
won't  bother  you  with  local  animosities.  We  are 
Spanish  Jews.  Not  very  good  ones,  perhaps,  but 
we  keep  to  ourselves  and  manage  to  keep  the  wolf 
from  the  door.  And  now,'  he  said  with  a  brisk  yet 
courteous  movement  of  his  hand  to  my  arm,  *who 
the  blazes  are  you,  and  what  do  you  want  to  know?' 

"I  told  him  succinctly,  and  he  nodded  to  each 
fact  of  importance  as  he  took  it  in. 

"'Mind  you,'  I  told  him,  'I  don't  defend  her  be- 
haviour.    She  shouldn't  have  told  her  father  she 

was  married  when  she  wasn't.     He  might  have ' 

Doctor  Sadura  made  a  gesture  of  flinging  something 
away  impatiently. 

**'0h,  pardon  me,  but  it  wouldn't  have  made  any 
difference  with  that  old  humbug.'  I  looked  at  him 
in  amazement. 

"*I  said  humbug,'  he  insisted.  *A  thorough 
old  humbug.    Do  you  know  what  he's  suffering 


302     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

from?  Illusions  of  grandeur,  we  call  it  in  the  profes- 
sion. A  form  of  megalomania.  Oh,  yes,  he's  got 
some  money,  no  doubt,  or  I  shouldn't  render  him 
professional  services.  But  he  thinks  he  owns  the 
whole  country  clear  up  to  Uskub.  Burbles  away 
for  hours  to  me  about  his  plans  for  developing  the 
territory.  He's  got  a  lot  of  concessions  that  aren't 
worth  the  paper  they  are  printed  on.  What's  the 
use  of  concessions  when  the  government's  going  in 
and  out  like  a  wheezy  old  concertina,  when  the  agri- 
culturalists simply  wouldn't  know  what  he  was  talk- 
ing about  and  would  come  out  with  long  knives  and 
sickles  and  slash  his  developing  parties  about  the 
legs?  Rubbish!  Elusions  of  grandeur,  I  tell  you. 
As  for  the  girl,  you  know  her  better  than  I  do.  The 
man  who  protected  her,  Kinaitsky,  is  a  very  fine 
chap  indeed,  but  he  isn't  the  sort  of  person  I'd  intro- 
duce to  my  sisters,  if  you  know  what  I  mean.  Dis- 
tinctly not.'  ^ 

"*And  yet  I  imderstand  he  married  a  Jewess  not 
long  ago,'  I  said. 

"*Yes,  very  rich.  Quite  a  different  matter.  Im- 
mense tobacco  prop>erties.  You  see,  although  he  is 
not  an  Ottoman,  his  family  have  lived  under  Ottoman 
government  so  long  that  they  are  strong  supporters 
of  the  old  regime.  They  are  like  us  Jews.  They 
are  good  business  men  and  they  lend  the  old  Ottoman 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     SOS 

families  money  in  return  for  franchises  which  are 
very  profitable  to  people  with  aflSliations  in  Paris 
and  London,  and  so  forth.  I  don't  say  it's  a  per- 
fect system/  Doctor  Sadura  went  on,  'but  it  suits 
the  country.' 

"*Then  where  does  our  friend  with  his  illusions 
of  grandeur  come  in?'  I  enquired. 

"'Nowhere,  unless  there  was  a  revolution  and  a 
lot  of  these  old  estates  came  into  the  market,  and 
the  new  government  found  time  to  think  of  him. 
But  it  is  building  on  pretty  rotten  foundations,  I 
can  tell  you.  You  don't  suppose  he  is  the  first  to 
think  of  such  a  thing.' 

***No,  there  is  a  gentleman  named  Nikitos,'  I 
remarked. 

"*I  dare  say  there  is,'  said  the  doctor,  'but  I  never 
heard  of  him.* 

"*He  aspired  to  the  hand  of  Miss  Macedoine,'  I 
said,  *and  he  accompanied  them  here  from  the  Island 
of  Ipsilon.* 

"The  doctor  whistled.  The  carriage  stopped  at 
this  moment  in  front  of  an  imposing  residence  with 
gigantic  iron  gates  shutting  off  a  curved  drive.  The 
doctor  alighted,  turned  round,  and  regarded  me  with 
considerable  interest. 

"*Well,  I'm  blowed,'  he  observed,  coolly,  and  at 
once  attacked  the  massive  gates.    I  watched  him 


304     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

moving  one  of  them  very  slowly  and  edging  through. 
He  was  a  most  stimulating  person  to  be  with.  Vital- 
ity radiated  from  him.  I  have  no  doubt  he  was  a 
very  successful  physician.  Whom  he  was  attending 
within  this  opulent  home  I  never  knew — perhaps  an- 
other case  of  illusions  of  grandeur.  He  came  down 
the  drive  again  quickly,  slipped  between  the  gates, 
and  sprang  in  beside  me.  He  gave  me  the  impression 
of  playing  an  extremely  strong  game  of  tennis. 

"'Well.'*'  I  said,  as  he  slipped  his  wallet  into  the 
pocket  in  front  of  us,  and  took  out  his  formidable 
cigarette  case.  'Is  M.  Nikitos  suffering  from  the 
same  malady  as  Captain  Macedoine? '  The  doctor 
made  a  grimace. 

"  *  I  remember  that  chap,'  he  said,  *  though  I  don't 
recall  hearing  his  name.  He  acted  on  behalf  of 
Captain  Macedoine.  An  international  journalist, 
whatever  that  may  be.  We  are  rather  inclined  to 
avoid  journalists  of  all  sorts  here,  you  know.  First 
I  thought  he  had  picked  these  people  up  at  the 
Custom  House  and  got  himself  appointed  dragoman. 
Then  I  suspected  when  I  was  called  in  to  see  the  girl 
that  he  and  the  old  man  were  .  .  .  you  under- 
stand that  we  doctors  get  into  some  queer  manages. 
But  aspired  to  the  hand,  you  say.' 

"'Yes,  and  makes  extravagant  claims  to  what  he 
calls  purity.' 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     S05 

"'Oh,  that's  a  very  common  hallucination,'  said 
the  doctor.  He  laughed  gratingly.  'Compared 
with  the  people  who  employ  them,  you  know,  they 
must  in  time  get  to  feel  they  are  immaculate.  I  don't 
blame  them.     But  it's  an  hallucination.' 

*"Do  you  explain  everything  in  pathological 
terms.'*'  I  asked. 

*"How  do  you  mean?'  demanded  he. 

***You  seem  to  imagine  we  are  all  the  victims  of 
some  mental  disease.' 

"*No,  not  at  all.  But  the  higher  types  of  intel- 
lectualism  appear  to  me  slightly  mad.  The  Ego,* 
added  Doctor  Sadura,  *is  a  very  peculiar  animal.  It 
feeds  on  strange  things  like  empire-building  on  a 
Balkan  dung-heap,  and  purity,  and — oh,  all  sorts  of 
things.' 

***Go  on,'  I  said,  *you  have  evidently  included  me 
in  the  list.     How  would  you  describe  it? ' 

*'*Well,'  he  replied,  rubbing  his  nose,  *from  what 
you  tell  me,  I  shouldn't  pronounce  you  in  any  great 
danger  of  anything.  We  can  say  you  have  been 
suffering  from  a  faith  in  an  impracticable  felicity.' 
And  he  laughed. 

"'But  that  is  a  condemnation  of  romance!'  I 
protested.     He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"'We  shall  never  run  short  of  romance,'  he  de- 
clared.    '  The  great  thing  is  to  avoid  getting  mixed  up 


306     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

in  it  or  if  you  do,  you  mustn't  imagine,  as  you  were 
about  to  do,  that  it  can  be  carried  about  the  world. 
Of  course  I  know  there  is  a  fatal  fascination  about  the 
idea.  I  thought  of  something  like  that  myself  at  one 
time.  A  wonderful  experience!  But  it  wouldn't 
have  done.' 

"*You  don't  believe  in  love  then.'*'  I  asked,  curious 
to  know  how  the  brother  of  seven  sisters  regarded 
this  matter. 

"  *  Oh,  love ! '  he  echoed,  shrugging  again.  *  Love  is 
nothing.  It  happens  all  the  time  to  everybody.  It 
is  the  romantic  business  I  thought  you  were  speaking 
of.' 

"*You  draw  a  distinction,  then?* 

**  *  Why,  of  course.  Look  here,  I'll  tell  you.  I  had 
a  wild,  romantic  passion  once.  Think  of  it,  a  casualty 
surgeon  in  a  London  hospital,  carried  away,  posi- 
tively carried  away.  And  the  subject  of  it  was  an 
Irish  colleen.  Yes,  I  was  infatuated  simply  and 
solely  with  that  girl's  green  cloak  and  hood  and  her 
green  stockings  and  black  pumps.  I  have  been  told 
since  by  an  Irishman  that  girls  in  Ireland  never 
dream  of  wearing  such  a  rig.  That  doesn't  matter. 
I  had  read  of  Irish  colleens,  just  as  you,  for  example, 
might  have  read  of  Persian  princesses  or  Russian 
countesses,  and  the  glamour  of  it  carried  me  away. 
And  this  colleen  of  mine,  with  her  green  cloak  which 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     307 

she'd  got  from  a  theatrical  costumier,  represented  a 
romantic  ideal.  Very  nice  clever  sort  of  girl,  a  news- 
paper woman  she  was.  But  it  wouldn't  have  done. 
Never  try  to  make  an  episode  anything  else.  We 
parted  and  I  believe  she's  married  now.' 

"*That  about  sums  it  up,'  I  said. 

"*It  does.  Get  a  night's  sleep  and  you'll  see  it  in 
the  same  light.  You  have  had  an  accumUi'ation  of 
romantic  impacts,  and  I  expect  a  sea-going  life  leaves 
one  very  much  at  the  mercy  of  stray  impressions.  A 
ship's  surgeon  once  remarked  to  me  that  no  human 
intellect  could  survive  a  nautical  training.'  And  he 
laughed  again. 

"That,"  said  Mr.  Spenlove,  "was  how  he  talked. 
A  provocative,  positive  sort  of  man.  There  was,  if 
you  will  excuse  the  simile,  something  antiseptic  in 
his  character.  I  could  have  driven  about  and  talked 
to  him  all  day.  He  was  charged  with  sane  opinions 
on  life.  Humorous,  too.  When  I  suggested  that 
Captain  Macedoine  might  not  survive  his  daughter's 
death,  he  made  the  whimsical  remark  that  illusions  of 
grandeur  act  like  an  anaesthetic  upon  the  patient's 
emotions.  And  I  shall  not  forget  the  last  remark  he 
uttered  as  I  stood  beside  his  carriage  to  say  farewell. 
The  red  roofs  and  domes  of  the  city  stretched  away 
below  us  and  I  could  see  the  smoke  coming  over  the 
warehouse    from    the    ManoWs   funnel.    He    had 


308     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

promised  to  do  certain  things  for  me.  If  you  climb 
up  some  day  to  the  Protestant  cemetery  you  will  find 
out  what  some  of  those  things  were.  And  he  was 
good  enough  to  express  a  hope  that  I  might  come  to 
Saloniki  again.  I  replied  that  I  had  profited  im- 
mensely by  his  conversation  and  he  nodded,  say- 
ing: 

"*Yes,  that's  right.  But  what  you  really  need, 
you  know,  is  what  old-fashioned  people  in  England 
call  the  consolation  of  religion.' 

"'That  is  a  novel  prescription  for  a  doctor,'  I 
retorted. 

"'Perhaps  it  is,'  he  admitted,  holding  out  his  hand, 
*but  depend  upon  it,  nothing  else  will  do.' 

"'You  know  the  usual  stereotyped  advice  is  to  get 
married.''* 

*'*  You  would  still  need  the  consolation  of  religion,* 
he  remarked,  dryly.  *No,  the  fact  is,  real  love  is  too 
imcertain,  too  uncommon.* 

"'Surely,'  I  protested. 

"*A  fact,*  he  insisted,  simply.  *I  once  picked  up 
the  works  of  a  young  Arab  poetess  who  afterward 
slew  herself  in  her  lover's  arms.  And  the  burden  of 
all  her  songs  was  that  the  only  logical  culmination  of 
love,  if  it  be  genuine,  is  death.  I  offer  you  that  for 
your  Western  mind  to  ponder.  Good-bye  and  good 
luck.* 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     309 

**And  there  I  was,"  said  Mr.  Spenlove,  lighting  a 
fresh  cigarette,  "with  a  whole  brand-new  set  of 
consolatory  impressions  to  brood  upon,  left  to  pursue 
my  way  back  to  the  ship  and  take  up  a  safe  and 
humdrum  existence  once  more.  The  episode  was 
over,  and  it  would  be  unwise  to  try  and  make  it  any- 
thing else.  And  I  had  been  presented  with  a  novel 
and  extremely  impracticable  test  of  love  which  pre- 
occupied by  its  stark  beauty.  I  had  the  sudden 
fancy,  as  I  climbed  the  ruined  wall  that  runs  down 
from  the  Citadel  and  started  to  thread  the  narrow 
streets  toward  the  port,  of  that  Arab  poetess,  buried 
in  a  fragrant  and  silent  garden  among  cypresses,  and 
her  lover,  whom  I  pictured  an  infidel,  keeping  her  in 
memory  by  a  bronze  statuette.  I  saw  it  on  a  table 
in  his  room,  a  tiny  thing  of  delicate  art,  the  exquisite 
creature  depicted  at  the  supreme  moment  of  death 
and  passion.  For  of  course  the  lover  would  not 
adopt  that  extreme  view  of  his  obligations  toward 
love.  Full  of  regret  he  would  continue  a  mediocre 
existence.     .     ,     . 

"And  yet,"  said  Mr.  Spenlove,  standing  up  and 
looking  out  from  under  bent  brows  at  the  faint  lifting 
of  the  darkness  beyond  the  headland,  "and  yet,  my 
friends,  as  I  picked  my  way  down  toward  the  port,  it 
occurred  to  me  to  wonder  whether  our  Western  views 
are  so  full  of  ultimate  wisdom  as  we  imagine;  whether 


810     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE*S  DAUGHTER 

there  may  not  be  something  in  life  which  we  miss 
because  we  are  so  careful  of  life.  At  this  moment  we 
are  vigorously  striving  to  impose  our  Occidental 
conceptions  of  happiness  and  justice  and  government 
upon  a  good  many  millions  to  whom  our  arrogant 
assumptions  of  the  Almighty's  prerogatives  is 
becoming  an  incomprehensible  infliction.  It  wouldn't 
do,  I  suppose,  to  suggest  that  so  far  from  being  a 
matter  of  mathematical  progression,  life  has  a  secret 
rhythm  of  its  own.  And  while  I  was  working  away 
at  this  alarming  line  of  thought,  I  was  passing  along 
narrow  streets  crammed  with  evidences  of  desires 
other  than  ours.  I  passed  women  veiled  save  for 
their  sombre,  enigmatic  eyes.  I  passed  the  doors  of 
temples  where  men  lay  prostrate  upon  strips  of 
carpet,  the  saffron-coloured  soles  of  their  bare  feet 
gleaming  distinct  in  the  sunlight.  I  was  assailed  by 
troops  of  children  whose  tremendous  vitality  and 
unabashed  enterprise  made  me  tremble  with  fore- 
bodings for  the  future.  Was  it  possible,  I  wondered, 
if  our  system  didn't  give  the  less  admirable  and  the 
cunning  among  us  a  long  advantage?  Which  they 
were  beginning  to  take,  I  added.  I  found  myself 
endeavouring  to  take  soundings  and  find  out,  so  to 
speak,  how  far  we  were  off  shore.  Mind  you,  it 
wasn't  simply  that  as  far  as  I  could  see  we  were 
busily  producing  an  inferior  social  order.     I  was 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     811 

trying  to  think  out  what  the  ultimate  consequences 
would  be  if  we  continued  to  dilute  and  rectify  and 
sterilize  our  emotions.  I  wanted  to  see  beyond  that 
point,  but  I  found  I  couldn't.  I  hadn't  the  power, 
and  I'm  afraid  that  nowadays  I  lack  the  courage  as 
well. 

"And  then  I  lost  myself  awhile  in  a  bazaar  where  I 
saw  sundry  gentlemen  from  the  country  hurriedly 
disposing  of  short,  blunt  rifles  at  a  reckless  discount 
for  cash,  and  eventually  I  came  out  into  a  steep 
street  which  led  down  to  the  sea,  a  street  full  of  an 
advancing  swarm  of  armed  men  and  banners  and 
carriages  and  the  shrill  blare  of  trumpets  pulsed  by 
the  thudding  of  drums.  A  squad  of  motley  indi- 
viduals in  civilian  garb  with  red  sashes  across  their 
bosoms  and  rifles  in  their  hands  marched  ahead  of  a 
brass  band  and  breasted  the  slope.  At  intervals 
came  carriages  containing  the  leaders  of  this  new 
regime.  I  observed  the  burly  person  in  the  fez  and 
wearing  a  silver  star.  He  sat  alone  in  an  open 
landau,  his  frock  coat  gathered  up  so  that  his  mus- 
cidar  haunches  could  be  seen  crushing  the  salmon- 
coloured  upholstery,  his  massive  calves  almost 
bursting  out  of  the  cashmere  trousers.  He  held 
himself  rigidly  upright,  his  hand  at  the  salute,  his 
big  black  eyes  swivelling  from  side  to  side  as  the 
crowd  surged  up  and  applauded.    He  had  been  a 


312     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

driver  on  the  railroad,  I  read  later  on,  when  his 
photo,  with  the  silver  star,  appeared  in  our  illustrated 
papers  at  home  as  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  Party  of 
Liberty  and  Progress.  Still  an  engine-driver,  I 
should  say,  recalling  him  as  he  rode  past  that  morn- 
ing, not  particularly  attentive  to  signals  or  pressure- 
gauges  either,  if  what  we  hear  be  true.  Broad-based 
he  sat  there,  leaning  slightly  forward,  the  tight  blue 
tunic  creasing  across  the  small  of  his  strong,  curved 
back,  his  short,  thick  feet  encased  in  elastic  side 
boots,  his  long  nails  curving  over  the  ends  of  his 
fingers  like  claws.  And  it  occurred  to  me,  as  I  stood 
on  the  marble  steps  of  that  office  building  and 
watched  him  being  borne  upward  to  the  Citadel 
where  no  doubt  he  rendered  substantial  aid  to  the 
cause  of  Liberty  and  Progress,  that  it  is  to  the  credit 
of  the  despots  and  cut-throats  of  history  that  they 
were  perfectly  honest  in  their  behaviour.  They 
sought  dominion  and  got  it.  They  sought  gold  and 
got  it.  They  sought  the  blood  and  the  concubines 
of  their  enemies  and  got  them.  And  they  rarely 
deemed  it  worth  while  to  pretend  that  they  were 
apostles  of  liberty  and  progress.  That  is  one  of  our 
modem  improvements.  ...  I  was  musing  thus 
as  the  platoons  of  ragged  revolutionaries  shuffled 
past,  when  I  found  myself  gazing  at  M.  Nikitos, 
seated  with  crossed  legs  in  the  comer  of  a  shabby  one- 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     81S 

horse  carriage,  and  raising  an  unpleasant-looking 
silk  hat.  He  was,  I  take  it,  one  of  the  secretaries  of 
the  Committee  of  Liberty  and  Progress,  possibly  their 
future  international  expert.  It  suddenly  occurred  to 
me  that  there  is  a  gigantic  brotherhood  in  the  world, 
a  brotherhood  of  those  who  have  never  willingly  done 
a  day's  work  in  their  lives  and  never  intend  to.  We 
have  been  so  mesmerized  by  the  phrase  the  Idle 
Rich,  that  we  have  completely  forgotten  that  sinister 
and  perilous  pestilence,  the  Idle  Poor.  Looking  at 
M.  Nikitos,  with  his  hair  standing  straight  up  on 
the  lower  slopes  of  his  head  like  fir  trees  on  the  sides 
of  a  mountain  and  his  opaque  black  eyes  staring  with 
fanatical  intensity  at  nothing  in  particular,  one  was 
irresistibly  reminded  of  a  fungus.  The  incipient 
black  beard,  which  was  making  its  appearance  in 
patches  on  his  chin  and  jaws,  lent  a  certain  strength 
to  the  impression  of  fungoid  growth,  and  encouraged 
a  dreadful  sort  of  notion  that  he  was  beyond  the 
normal  and  lovable  passions  of  men.  He  was,  you 
will  remember,  a  pure  man.  He  sat  there,  raising 
that  horrible  silk  hat,  exposing,  with  the  mechan- 
ical regularity  of  an  automaton  his  extraordinary 
frontal  configuration,  the  apotheosis  of  undesirable 
chastity.  And  he  had  formed  a  resolution  'which 
nothing  could  kill.*  I  don't  doubt  it.  The  resolu- 
tions of  an  individual  like  that  are  as  substantial  and 


314     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

indestructible  as  he.  They  persist,  in  obedience  to  a 
melancholy  law  of  human  development,  from  one 
generation  to  another.  They  are  as  numerously 
busy  just  now,  under  the  *  drums  and  tramplings'  of 
the  conflict,  as  maggots  in  a  cheese.  They  have  the 
elusive  and  impersonal  mobility  of  a  cloud  of  poison- 
ous gases.  They  restore  one's  belief  in  a  principle  of 
evil,  and  they  may  scare  us,  ultimately,  back  from 
their  wonderful  Liberty  and  Progress,  into  an  authen- 
tic faith  in  God. 

"And  I  also,"  resumed  Mr.  Spenlove,  after  a 
moment's  silence,  "formed  a  resolution,  to  refrain 
from  any  further  participation  in  alien  affairs.  I 
found  that  I  lacked  courage  for  that  enterprise,  too. 
It  is,  after  all,  a  dangerous  thing  to  tamper  with 
one's  fundamental  prejudices.  They  very  often 
turn  out  to  be  the  stark  and  ugly  supports  of  our 
health  and  sanity.  I  resigned,  not  without  a  faint 
but  undeniable  tremor  of  relief,  the  part  of  a 
principal  in  the  play.  I  have  harped  to  you  on  this 
p>oint  of  my  relative  importance  in  the  story  because 
it  was  as  a  mere  super  that  I  entered  from  the  wings 
and  it  is  as  a  supcF  in  the  last  act  that  I  retire.  I 
think  it  was  the  letter  and  package  M.  Kinaitsky 
sent  down  to  the  ship  which  scared  me  into  ob- 
scurity. That  and  the  news  that  the  four  o'clock 
express  for  Constantinople  in  which  he  had  been 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE^S  DAUGHTER     315 

travelling  had  been  blown  to  atoms  by  the  apostles 
of  Liberty  and  Progress.  You  can  say  it  completed 
the  cure,  if  you  like.  To  read  that  brief  note  of 
courteous  and  regretful  reproach  was  like  encounter- 
ing a  polite  phantom.  After  recording  his  unalter- 
able conviction  that  only  death  or  a  woman  could 
have  prevented  an  Englishman  of  honour  from 
keeping  an  appointment,  he  begged  to  trespass  so 
far  upon  my  generous  impulses  as  to  send  me  the 
package,  fully  addressed  to  his  brother  in  London. 
He  would  esteem  it  a  favour  if  I  would  deliver  it  in 
person.  The  sudden  alarming  turn  of  events  ren- 
dered it  imperative  to  despatch  these  papers  by 
a  secure  and  unsuspected  hand.  Should  nothing 
happen,  it  would  be  a  simple  matter  for  him  to 
communicate  with  his  brother  when  the  present 
troubles  were  over.  Otherwise  .  .  .  and  so  on. 
He  would  not  do  more  than  allude  to  the  question  of 
recompense,  which  would  be  on  a  scale  commensurate 
with  the  magnitude  of  the  obligation.  The  Captain, 
no  doubt,  would  consent  to  keep  the  package  in  his 
safe  during  the  voyage.  .  .  . 
[  "Well,  the  Manola  had  no  safe,  but  Jack  had  a 
formidable  old  cash-box  in  his  room,  and  it  was  with 
the  idea  of  carrying  out  the  behests  of  one  who  could 
no  longer  enforce  them  that  I  carried  the  big  yellow 
envelope  to  Jack  and  told  him  how  I  came  by  it. 


316     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

Even  when  it  was  condensed  to  suit  his  bluff  men- 
tality, it  was  a  long  story.  I  was  astonished  at  the 
abstraction  into  which  it  threw  him.  On  the  road 
he  returned  to  it  again  and  again.  His  imagination 
continually  played  round  the  history  of  'that  gel' 
as  he  called  her.  He  could  not  get  used  to  the 
startling  fact  that  all  this  had  been  going  on  'under 
his  very  nose,  by  Jingo!'  and  he  hadn't  had  the 
slightest  suspicion.  'Forgotten  all  about  her,  very 
nearly.  And  by  the  Lord,  I  thought  you  had,  too, 
Fred.* 

"And  I  should  like,"  said  Mr.  Spenlove,  "to  have 
heard  him  tell  Mrs.  Evans.  Perhaps,  though,  it 
would  not  have  proved  so  very  sensational  after  all. 
It  is  exceedingly  difficult  to  shock  a  woman  who  has 
been  married  for  a  number  of  years.  They  seem  to 
undergo  a  process  which,  without  affording  them  any 
direct  glimpse  into  the  bottomless  pit,  renders  them 
cognizant  of  the  dark  ways  of  the  human  soul. 
Perhaps  you  don't  beheve  this.  Perhaps  you 
think  I  am  only  trying  to  joke  at  the  expense  of  a 
married  woman  I  never  liked.  Well,  try  it.  Take 
a  benign  matron  of  your  own  family,  who  has  endured 
the  racking  strain  of  years  of  family  life  and  tell  her 
your  own  scandalous  history,  and  she  will  amaze  you 
by  her  serene  acceptance  of  your  infamous  proceed- 
ings.   So  perhaps,  as  I  say,  I  missed  nothing  very 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     817 

piquant  after  all.  I  had  to  content  myself  with  the 
eloquent  silence  of  the  respectable  but  single  Tonder- 
beg,  moving  about  in  the  cabin,  his  blond  head  bent 
in  gentle  melancholy,  his  features  composed  into  an 
expression  of  respectful  forgiveness. 

"*But  what  was  your  idea,  Fred?*  says  Jack  to 
me  on  the  road  home.  He  wore  habitually  a  mysti- 
fied air  when  we  were  alone  together  in  his  cabin. 
Jack  had  become  settled  in  life.  His  movements 
had  grown  more  deliberate,  and  his  choleric  energy 
had  mellowed  into  an  assured  demeanour  of  authority. 
You  could  imagine  him  the  father  of  a  young  lady. 
He  sat  back  in  his  big  chair,  motionless  save  for  the 
cigar  turning  between  thumb  and  finger,  a  typical 
ship-master.  He  was  recognized  by  the  law  as  com- 
petent to  perform  the  functions  of  a  magistrate  on 
the  high  seas.  He  no  longer  plunged  like  an  angry 
bull  into  rows  with  agents.  He  had  arrived  at  that 
period  of  life  when  all  the  half-forgotten  experiences 
of  our  youth,  the  foolish  experiments,  the  humiliating 
reverses,  come  back  to  our  chastened  minds  and  assist 
us  to  impose  our  personalities  upon  a  world  ignorant 
of  our  former  imperfections.  And  he  sat  there  turn- 
ing his  cigar  between  thumb  and  finger,  his  bright 
and  blood-shot  brown  eyes  fixed  in  a  sort  of  aflFection- 
ate  glare  upon  me,  his  old  chum,  who  had  suddenly 
left  him  spiritually  in  the  lurch,  so  to  speak.     'What 


818     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

was  your  idea,  Fred?  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  hadn't 
made  any  plans  for  the  future  at  all?  Just  going 
to  let  the  thing  slide?*  And  the  curious  thing  about 
his  state  of  mind  was  that  he  was  attracted  by  the 
idea  without  understanding  it.  As  he  sat  watching 
me,  mumbling  about  the  future,  and  the  taking  of 
risks  and  what  people  at  home  would  say,  it  was  ob- 
vious that  he  was  beginning  to  see  the  possibilities 
of  such  an  adventure.  He  had  a  vague  and  nebulous 
glimpse  of  something  that  was  neither  furtive  sen- 
suality nor  smug  respectability.  'Like  something 
in  one  of  these  here  nowels,'  as  he  put  it  with  uncon- 
scious pathos.  And  that,  I  suppose,  was  as  near  as  he 
ever  attained  to  an  understanding  of  the  romantic 
temperament.  It  was  fine  of  him,  for  he  got  it 
through  a  very  real  friendship.  *I  know  you  would- 
n't do  anything  in  the  common  way,  Fred,'  he  ob- 
served after  a  long  contemplation  of  his  cigar. 

"'And  would  you  have  stood  for  it.  Jack?*  I  asked 
him,  'seeing  that  Mrs.  Evans  would  hardly  have  ap- 
proved, I  mean.'  He  roused  up  and  worked  his 
shoulders  suddenly  in  a  curious  way,  as  though 
shifting  a  burden. 

*"0h,  as  to  that!'  he  broke  out,  and  then  after  a 
pause  he  added,  'You  can't  always  go  by  that.  I'd 
stand  for  a  whole  lot  from  you,  Fred.' 

"And  with  that,  to  the  regret  of  Mr.  Tonderbeg 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     319 

who  was  hovering  about  outside  in  the  main  cabin, 
our  conversation  ended. 

"We  bunkered  in  Algiers  and  the  newspapers 
gave  us  the  news  of  the  war.  A  war  so  insignificant 
that  most  of  you  young  fellows  have  forgotten  all 
about  it.  And  the  captain  of  a  ship  in  the  harbour, 
hearing  we  were  from  Saloniki,  came  over  and  in- 
formed us  that  he  himself  had  been  bound  for  that 
port,  with  a  cargo  of  stores,  but  had  received  word 
to  stop  and  wait  for  further  orders.  He  was  very 
indignant,  for  he  had  expected  some  pretty  handsome 
pickings.  The  point  of  his  story  was  that  the  stuil 
was  for  Macedoine  &  Co.  who  would  be  able  to 
claim  a  stiff  sum  in  compensation  for  non-delivery. 
I  believe  the  case  ran  on  for  years  in  the  courts,  and 
the  lawyers  did  very  well  out  of  it. 

"And  when  we  reached  Glasgow,  I  took  the  train 
to  London  to  deliver  the  package  M.  Eanaitsky  had 
entrusted  to  me.  I  was  curious  to  learn  something 
of  that  gentleman's  affiliations  in  England,  to  dis- 
cover, if  you  like,  how  his  rather  disconcerting  men- 
tality comported  itself  in  a  Western  environment. 
The  envelope  was  addressed  to  Rosemary  Lodge, 
Hampstead,  and  I  left  Mason's  Hotel  in  the  Strand, 
on  a  beautiful  day  in  late  autumn,  and  took  the  Ham- 
stead  bus  in  Trafalgar  Square.  It  was  very  im- 
pressive, that  ascent  of  the  Northern  Heights  of 


820     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE*S  DAUGHTER 

London,  dragging  through  the  submerged  squalor 
of  Camden  Town,  up  through  the  dingy  penury 
of  Haverstock  Hill,  to  the  clear  and  cultured  prosper- 
ity of  the  smuggest  suburb  on  earth.  I  happened 
to  know  Hampstead  since  I  had  once  met  an  artist 
who  lived  there,  though  his  studio  was  in  Chelsea. 
I  may  tell  you  abeut  him  some  day.  And  when  I 
had  walked  up  the  Parliament  Hill  Road  and  started 
across  the  Heath  to  find  Rosemary  Lodge,  I  had  a 
fairly  clear  notion  of  what  I  should  find.  For  of 
course  it  was  only  a  lodge  in  the  peculiar  modern 
English  sense.  It  is  part  of  the  harmless  hyp>ocrisy 
of  this  modem  use  of  language,  that  one  should  live 
in  tiny  flats  in  London  and  call  them  'mansions* 
while  a  large  house  standing  in  its  own  grounds  is 
styled  a  lodge.  M.  Nicholas  Kinaitsky  evidently 
kept  up  an  extensive  establishment.  There  seemed 
a  round  dozen  of  servants.  Two  men  and  a  boy  were 
out  in  the  grounds  preparing  the  roses  for  the  winter. 
A  blue  spiral  of  smoke  was  blowing  away  from  the 
chimney  of  the  hothouse  against  the  north  wall. 
And  the  house  itself  was  one  of  those  spacious  and 
perfectly  decorous  affairs  which  have  become  iden- 
tified with  that  extraordinary  colony  of  wealthy 
aliens  who  make  a  sp)ecialty  of  being  more  English 
than  the  English.  There  was  a  tennis-court  on  one 
side  of  the  house  and  a  young  man  with  a  dark,  clean- 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     821 

shaven  face  stood  talking  to  a  girl,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  his  shoulders  hunched  in  what  one  may  call 
the  public-school  manner,  the  coat  of  arms  of  an 
ancient  Oxford  college  glowing  on  the  breast  of  his 
blue  blazer.  And  indoors  the  same  influence  ob- 
tained. The  pictures  and  books  and  furniture  pre- 
sented a  front  of  impregnable  insularity.  Even 
the  piano  was  English.  Only  a  photograph  in  a 
frame  of  silver  gilt,  on  a  side  table,  gave  a  hint — the 
portrait  of  a  lady  with  hair  dressed  in  the  style  of 
German  princesses  of  Queen  Victoria's  day,  the 
sinuous  curve  of  her  high,  tight  bodice  accented  by 
the  great  bustle.  I  noted  all  this,  and  sat  looking  out 
of  the  window,  which  gave  upon  the  autumn  splen- 
dour of  the  Heath.  There  was  a  pond  close  by,  and 
an  old  gentleman  in  white  spats  was  stooping  down 
to  launch  a  large  model  yacht  on  the  water,  A 
fairly  well-to-do  old  gentleman,  by  the  gold  coins 
on  his  watch-chain  and  the  rings  which  sparkled 
on  his  hands.  I  wondered  if  he  were  a  relative  of 
the  Kinaitskys  or  whether  he  only  knew  them.  The 
yacht  started  off  under  a  press  of  canvas,  and  the  old 
gentleman  set  off  at  a  trot  round  the  edge,  to  meet  it. 
I  doubt  if  you  could  have  seen  a  sight  like  that  any- 
where else  in  the  world.  He  was  perfectly  uncon- 
scious  of  doing  anything  at  all  out  of  the  common. 
And  I  dare  say  it  is  essential  to  the  rounded  com- 


S22      CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

pleteness  of  English  life  that  funny  and  wealthy  old 
gentlemen  should  sail  toy  yachts  on  ponds,  while 
cultured  aliens  amass  fortunes  on  the  Stock  Exchange 
and  some  of  us  plow  the  ocean  all  our  lives. 

"And  then  I  was  disturbed  in  my  musings  by  a 
young  lady  entering  the  room,  and  I  rose  to  explain 
myself. 

"I  say  she  was  a  young  lady,  while  you  will  ob- 
serve I  alluded  only  just  now  to  a  girl  talking  to  a 
young  man  on  the  tennis-court.  There  was  that 
difference.  Without  giving  one  any  reason  for  sup- 
posing she  was  married,  this  one  conveyed  a  subtle 
impression  of  being  the  mistress  of  the  house.  She 
was  dark,  athletic,  simply  dressed  in  black,  and  ex- 
tremely plain. 

"*  Father  will  be  back  from  the  city  at  half -past 
four,'  she  said,  when  I  had  explained  my  errand. 
*I  am  so  sorry  you  will  have  to  wait.  You  will  stay 
to  dinner,  of  course.' 

"I  said  I  did  not  know  if  I  should  stay  to  dinner 
as  a  matter  of  course,  but  I  thanked  her.  We 
drifted  into  conversation  and  she  gave  a  very  clever 
impression  of  being  a  thorough  woman  of  the  world. 
She  was  not,  of  course.  She  was  one  of  those  unfor- 
tunate beings  who  are  trained  in  all  the  arts  of  life 
and  who  become  adepts  in  all  those  accomplish- 
ments which  men  take  entirely  for  granted,  and  who 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER     323 

are  permitted  to  grow  up  imagining  men  are  paladins. 
And  when  they  marry  they  experience  a  shock  from 
which  they  never  recover.  Being  married  is  such  a 
different  affair  from  looking  after  your  father's  house. 
When  I  mentioned  my  errand,  she  said  her  mother 
and  the  widowed  aunt  were  at  Torquay.  Her  plain 
features  were  suffused  with  emotion  when  she  men- 
tioned the  death  of  her  uncle.  She  had  been  his 
favourite  niece.  He  always  paid  them  a  brief  visit 
when  he  came  to  London.  Very  brief.  He  had  a 
great  many  people  to  see  in  town.  Only  last  year 
he  had  given  her  a  set  of  pearls.  And  Madame 
Kinaitsky  was  so  young — it  was  tragic.  The  pater 
had  gone  over  and  met  her  in  Paris  and  she  would  live 
with  them  in  future.  She  stopped  in  the  middle 
of  this  and  looked  at  me. 

"*You  met  her,  of  course,  out  there.''*  she 
asked. 

*'0h,  dear  no,'  I  said.  **I  am  only  a  very  casual 
acquaintance,  you  understand.  I  happened  to  be 
on  the  spot,  and  the  very  fact  that  I  was  not  a  regular 
friend  gave  your  uncle  the  idea  that  his  papers, 
whatever  they  are,  would  be  safer  with  me.  I  was 
only  too  pleased  to  be  of  service.  You  see,*  I  went  on, 
*your  uncle  knew  a  friend  of  mine,  and  so.     .     .     .* 

"*A  friend  of  yours?'  she  queried. 

***Yes,  a  business  friend.    Your  uncle  helped  him 


824      CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

and  his  daughter.  It  was  the  daughter  I  knew  par- 
ticularly.' 

"'Was  she  nice?'  she  demanded,  eagerly.  'I 
mean,  was  she  worthy  of  his  help.^  He  was  so  good. 
He  helped  everybody.  There  is  an  orphanage  in 
Saloniki  which  he  supported — oh,  most  generously. 
And  he  asked  nothing  in  return.  Oh !'  she  exclaimed, 
*when  I  think  of  his  life,  always  thinking  of  others 
and  doing  good,  and  how  at  last  he  found  happiness 
for  himself,  and  then  this.  .  .  .'  and  she  gazed 
out  of  the  window  at  the  old  gentleman,  who  was 
in  trouble  with  his  yacht,  which  had  capsized  just 
beyond  walking-stick  reach.  *It  was  like  him  to 
trust  a  stranger,'  she  murmured. 

"'He  was  good  enough  to  make  use  of  me  because 
I  was  an  Englishman,'  I  replied. 

"'And  that  was  like  him,  too,'  she  returned,  kin- 
dling again.  'It  was  a  great  grief  to  him  that  business 
prevented  him  from  living  with  us  here  inHampstead. 
He  loved  the  English  ways.  He  used  to  say  in  joke 
that  he  would  certainly  marry  an  English  wife  if  he 
could  induce  any  of  them  to  marry  him.  But  of 
course  he  met  his  fate.    He  wrote  hoping  we  would 

love  her.     We  shall  do  that,  of  course,  but '  she 

looked  out  again  at  the  old  gentleman  who  had  found 
a  small  boy  volunteer  to  paddle  out,  bare-legged, 
to  salve  the  yacht. 


CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE*S  DAUGHTER     325 

"*But  what?*I  asked. 

"*She  will  marry  again/  Miss  Kinaitsky  remarked 
in  a  low  tone.  *I  am  positive.  I  do  not  see  how  we 
can  blame  her.  She  submitted  to  the  arrangement. 
But  she  did  not  love  him.  We  feel  it,  because  he 
spoke  of  her  in  such  terms  ...  it  was  almost 
adoration.  There  was  never  any  other  woman  for 
him.     .     .     .' 

"A  silence  fell  between  us  because,  as  you  can 
easily  imagine,  I  had  nothing  to  offer  commensurate 
with  the  extraordinary  exaltation  of  her  mood.  It 
was  plain  enough  that  to  a  woman  like  her  love  could 
not  possibly  be  what  I  had  conceived  it.  To  her 
it  was  a  divine  flame  through  which  she  would  dis- 
cern the  transfigured  features  of  her  beloved.  To 
her  it  was  a  supreme  sacrament  administered  in  a 
sacred  chamber  whence  had  been  shut  out  all  the 
evil  which  impregnates  the  heart  of  man.  And  I 
sat  there  wondering.  When  I  left  that  sumptuous 
and  smoothly  running  mansion  and  walked  out  across 
the  Heath  in  the  dusk  toward  the  Spaniards  Inn,  I 
was  still  wondering  whether  each  of  us  could  be  right. 
And  I  wonder  still.  For  if  it  were  true  that  love  were 
what  she  and  her  kind  imagine  it  to  be,  then  I  had 
never  seen  it.  To  me  it  had  been  nothing  so  trans- 
cendentally  easy  as  that.  To  me  it  had  been  an 
obscure  oommotion,  an  enigmatic  storm  on  which 


326     CAPTAIN  MACEDOINE'S  DAUGHTER 

the  human  soul,  with  its  drogue  of  inherited  sorrows, 
was  flung  on  its  beam  ends,  stove  in  and  dismasted, 
while  beyond,  far  off,  there  shone  a  faint  light,  the 
flash  of  a  derisive  smile,  flashing  and  then  suddenly 
going  out.  And  even  now,  in  the  mists  of  the  ac- 
cumulating years,  I  wonder  still." 

For  the  last  time  Mr.  Sjjenlove  paused,  and  step- 
ping out  to  the  rail,  be  stood  there,  with  his  back 
to  the  men  who  had  listened  to  his  story,  silhouetted 
against  the  first  p>ale  flush  of  the  dawn,  looking  away 
to  the  horizon  where  could  be  seen  a  tiny  light, 
shrouded  to  point  straight  toward  them,  flashing 
once,  twice,  with  mysterious  caution,  and  then  going 
out. 


THE  END 


Tta  COUNTRY  LIFE   PRESS 
GARDEN    CITY,    N.   Y. 


i 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Book  Slip-35m-9,'62(D2218B4)4280 


^, 


UCLA-College  Library 

PR  6025  M16ca 


CoUege 
Library 


A    001  184  450     3 


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